


Lazarus

by valathe



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Boatloads of angst, F/F, also a teeny tiny bit of fluff, angry mercy is scary, attacks on civilians, dead civilians, i love these characters so much why do i keep hurting them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2018-10-03 05:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10237094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valathe/pseuds/valathe
Summary: After Fareeha is grievously injured during a mission, Ana returns from the dead to be there for her daughter. Angela is less than pleased to see her lover's mother again.





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> just a slight heads-up: amputation of limbs is briefly mentioned at the beginning.

Fareeha woke to a faint pricking on her arm, her mind sluggish and unable to really parse what was going on. Slowly, oh so slowly, the events came back to her. The mission in Rome. The engagement with surprisingly organized anti-Omnic terrorists. Her failure. Her not spotting the very obvious anti-aircraft gun that had been trained on her. Her rocket launcher positively disintegrating in her very hands after being hit by a 20mm round. The searing pain.

She opened her eyes to be greeted by the dimmed lights and muted off-white ceiling of the watchpoint's med bay. Her other senses returned to her, one by one. The leaden weight of her tongue, resting uncomfortably in her parched mouth. The faint whirring and beeping of medical equipment surrounding her.

The pricking on her arm became more insistent, like an itch that sneaks up on you while you're unable to scratch it. Harmless in the beginning, but turning more and more annoying the longer it persists. Starting to border on painful. She looked down to her right hand and saw – nothing. She furrowed her eyebrows and tried to understand, and it took her longer than she'd like to admit to recognize the bandages on the stump that used to be her wrist.

Her first though was to quietly wonder about the truly amazing amount of painkillers she had to be on. How that explained her sluggishness. The implications of that stump didn't register with her, for now. It was too much for her addled brain.

„You're awake.“ someone said from her left side, and sent her thoughts for a spin. That voice was painfully familiar, even though she hadn't heard it in almost a decade.

„Ami?“ she asked as she slowly turned her head.

There she sat, Ana Amari, holding her hand while looking at her with concern in her eyes. _Eye_. Her face had changed so much, even aside from the eye-patch that begged for attention. Wrinkles were congregating around her eyes (eye, _again_ ) and mouth. Her hair had turned a snowy white. Her voice sounded just a tad more hoarse and aged. And yet, it was _her_. Her mother. There wasn't even a hint of doubt about that, painkiller-induced haze be damned. Fareeha closed her hand around Ana's with as fierce a grip as she could muster in this state.

„I've missed you, mother.“ she rasped, only belatedly realizing how naturally she had slipped back into arabic.

„I've missed you too, sweetheart.“ Ana replied, not even bothering to conceal the raw emotion in her voice. „I'm sorry, Fareeha. I'm so sorry I didn't come back sooner.”

Fareeha recognized the pleading in her mother's tone, the unspoken request for forgiveness for years of abandonment. For absolutely no communication after the one, brief letter. After the funeral. Something ugly reared its head within her, a decade's worth of anger, contempt, of whys and what ifs; but she fought it down. She was in no state to have this conversation right now, neither mentally nor physically, so she contended herself with enjoying the feeling of rough, calloused hands around her own. Hands she had given up all hope on feeling again.

Their moment was interrupted when the doors to the med bay flew open, and a veritable force of nature stormed in.

“You! How dare you?! Did you think I wouldn't notice you coming back, sneaking in?”

Angela stood there, eyes blazing with a righteous fury.

Ana's posture slumped, and she briefly closed her eyes (her eye, just one) and took a deep breath.

“I understand your anger, Angela, and we _will_ talk about everything that happened. But _please_ , let me have this moment with my daughter.”

Every trace of indignation left Angela's face when she looked at Fareeha, saw her eyes open, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You're awake?” she mumbled before rushing to the bed, laying a tender hand on Fareeha's cheek and gazing into her eyes with worry and concern.

“How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?”

“No pain, _habibti_.” Fareeha replied, trying to smile. “I feel weird. Everything is...weird.” She trailed off, embarrassed that her usual eloquence eluded her.

“Just the pain meds, _Spätzli_.” Angela replied with a tender smile that bordered on tremulous. “I'll be right back.”

She disappeared behind the privacy screen and returned not a minute later with a glass of water. She helped Fareeha into a slightly more upright position so she could drink, and then eased her back down again.

“Sleep some more, _Liebling_ , you'll feel better in the morning. I'll be there for you.”

Fareeha nodded and closed her eyes, giving Ana's hand a brief squeeze before letting go. _I'll be alright, ami._

“She needs to rest, Ana. And you and I need to have a talk.” Angela said, all the warmth in her voice gone. It hadn't been a request.

Fareeha only heard her mother's sigh and the rustle of clothes as she got up before was out again.

* * *

Angela strode through the abandoned hallways of the watchpoint, her low heels aggressively clicking against the floor with her rapid pace. She didn't care if she woke anyone up. All that mattered right now were answers. Answers she would get tonight, right now. The days when she would defer to Ana out of respect, or because of her rank, were long gone. Any respect she'd had for the woman had evaporated when she had realized how deeply she had been betrayed.

She strode through the doors of Torbjörn's workshop, not bothering to hold them open for Ana, and walked to the lone workbench that was still illuminated. She heard Ana close the doors behind her just as she reached her destination, the embodiment of the promise Overwatch had broken. The _only_ promise she had demanded of them when she'd joined.

She stood there, her back to Ana, and looked at the rifle. Taking in every worn detail. Just the sight of it made her anger and hurt flare up again, but she didn't talk. Not yet. She was content to let Ana stew for a few more moments.

“I think we should wait until the morning.” Ana said, quietly. “When our tempers have settled.”

Angela whipped around, the weapon in hand, and glared daggers at the woman.

“No, we won't wait. This is a talk that is _long_ overdue, and you won't worm your way out of it.”

She noticed with grim satisfaction how Ana seemed to wilt, how she _knew_ she had wronged the doctor.

“Do you remember what you promised me when you came to the hospital in Zürich, to take me away to 'the greatest opportunity of my life'? What both you and Jack reassured me of, over and over again?”

Ana remained silent, but Angela would have none of it.

“ _Do you?!_ ” she shouted, and her angry voice echoed in the empty room.

There was a moment of silence while Ana regarded the doctor with a shocked expression. Never, in all the years during the original Overwatch, had she seen the blonde this livid, this aggressive. She hung her head and took a deep breath.

“That you would have absolute authority and the last word regarding the direction of your research, and the implementation and use of any and all technology you created before and during your time with Overwatch.”

It was an almost verbatim quote of the contract Angela had signed.

“Then explain this!” she hissed, and threw the rifle at Ana with so much force the older woman staggered back a step.

“It was just a prototype, Angela.” she said, slight desperation in her voice. “A proof of concept that your healing Biotics could be applied at great range.”

Angela let loose a sardonic laugh, and Ana recoiled at how much bitterness there was in it.

“'Healing Biotics', yes?” she ground out before grabbing the bandoleer behind her and also throwing it at Ana. She almost dropped the rifle trying to catch it.

“Healing Biotics, that is what you call it?” she shouted, eyes fixed on the darts filled with purple liquid.

“Tell me, how many people have you _healed_ with those? How many lives have you _saved_ with this, this...this _perversion_?!”

“Angela, please, you need to understand...” Ana started, but the doctor cut her off.

“No, I don't _need_ to understand. I _can't_ understand.” she yelled, her fury turning her face into an ugly grimace.

“It was the _one thing_ I was worried about, the _one thing_ I had been told would never, _ever_ happen. Turning my tech into a weapon. Taking my life's work and twisting it, perverting it, into _this_!”

She slumped from her rigid posture, leaning heavily against the workbench and bringing her hand up to tiredly rub her nose between the eyes. A coping mechanism Ana had seen her do many times over the years.

“I couldn't believe it at first.” Angela said, much quieter, and all her anger had seemingly evaporated. It had only left the hurt behind. “I didn't _want_ to believe it. When I got the first reports about people dying to some unknown chemical agent. How all the symptoms sounded so eerily familiar to the failed prototypes. I tried to justify it. 'There has to be some other explanation', I thought. Only there wasn't.”

She finally looked up, and the betrayal Ana could see in her eyes was like a kick to the gut. A part of her wanted nothing more than to go back in time, to stop herself from going through with it. Another part, however, a bigger part, became defensive.

“So you just ignore all the good I have done with this?” she said. “All the hundreds of lives I have indeed saved, by ending a select few?”

Angela's head snapped up, eyes ablaze once again, but a shout never came. Instead, Angela fixed her with a withering glare, measuring her up.

“That is all you have to say for yourself, Ana? That is your explanation? The end justifies the means?” She shook her head and righted herself, steely resolve evident.

“Very well. Keep your fucking rifle, then, if it means so much to you. But don't you _ever_ dare to ask anything of me again. _Ever!_ For all intents and purposes you are _dead_ to me. Again. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and mourn a woman I once knew, one with integrity and compassion, who could tell right from wrong.”

She walked past a stunned Ana towards the exit, but paused briefly before opening the door.

“One more thing. If you ever abandon Fareeha again, _hurt_ her this much again...”

She looked like she wanted to finish the sentence, but thought better of it and left it hanging in the air. The slam of the door echoed through the workshop and left Ana alone, trying to comprehend what had just happened. She hadn't imagined her return to Overwatch looking like this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this is kinda my headcanon for how ana's return to overwatch would go down. yikes. i think that, despite being the caring and gentle doctor we all know and love, angela can be an absolute force of nature when she perceives an injustice to herself or her loved ones.  
> tell me what you think about this, whether you agree or disagree, or how _your_ version of ana's return would look like
> 
> song of the day is [all we love we leave behind by Converge](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyJz_V9jnlM)
> 
> cheers :)


	2. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha and Angela share a quiet, contemplative moment at the top of the Watchpoint.

The sea was so tranquil right now. Gentle waves lapped at the steep cliff side below, and the setting sun painted the whole scene in a glorious, golden hue. She sat at the edge of the platform, legs dangling freely, while her chin rested on her hand on the lower railing. She was facing west right now, across the wide, seemingly endless expanse of the Atlantic ocean; but if she'd walk around the platform she'd have the same view of the Mediterranean; and if she looked to the south and squinted really hard she could see to Moroccan coast through the haze. The platform atop the communications antenna was by far her favorite place on the base. Maybe even her favorite place in general.

She heard the door hiss open softly behind her, and didn't have to turn around to see who had joined her. A part of her wanted to be alone right now, to sort through her jumbled thoughts and emotions in solitude; but an even greater part craved warmth and closeness. So she shuffled to the left, an open invitation which was gladly accepted.

Angela slid into the open space next to her, assuming the same position, thighs and shoulders in solid contact. It hit her all at once how much she needed this at that very moment; that quiet companionship, that closeness and safety and comfort that only came with a loved one. She leaned over and rested her head on Angela's shoulder, closing her eyes and letting the sun warm her face. It wouldn't be long now before it would slip beneath the horizon, and it would quickly get too chilly up here with just her shorts and tee.

She sighed and opened her eyes again after a while, gazing at her hand, flexing the fingers. Muted blue and chrome; she had to wear a military-grade prosthetic because the civilian one, with fake skin and almost-natural tactile feedback, was still being manufactured.

“How are you feeling?” Angela asked. Of course she would ask. Even a simple gesture like that wouldn't escape her notice.

She sighed again, deeper this time, tainted with a twinge of melancholia. “Still getting used to it.”

Angela turned her head and kissed the crown of hers. Such a simple motion and yet so powerful. Angela had tried to explain the meaning of a German word to her once. _Geborgenheit_ , she'd called it. That feeling when you're safe, sound, and loved; when you know for an absolute fact that, right now, everything is alright. Like a baby in his mother's arms while she's gently rocking him and singing a lullaby. Like a woman resting her head in her husband's lap while he's stroking her hair, bathed in the light and soft hissing and crackling of a fireplace.

That's what she felt right now, despite everything. Despite losing yet another limb. Despite the turmoil her mother's reappearance had caused, deep down. Despite knowing that the feeling wouldn't last, _couldn't_ last, forever.

Because once the sun had disappeared, once they had to get up and head down again, it all would come crashing down on her shoulders again, trying to crush her every so slowly. A thought occurred to her, and she had to chuckle. The _Pillars of Heracles_ the ancient Greeks had called this place; unyielding and strong and resolute in the face of any danger. The way Angela viewed her, sometimes. And yet, she felt nothing like that right now. Atlas would've been more apt; cursed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders for all eternity.

“Talk to me, _Schatz_. What's going through your head?”

“Nothing big,” Fareeha replied with a wan smile, “just likening myself to demigods and titans.”

Her cryptic statement elicited a small laugh from Angela, and that alone made it worth it. She'd heard that laugh less and less frequently since her injury. Since...

“You hate her, don't you?” she asked, keeping her gaze on her fake hand. She didn't have to elaborate who she meant.

“I honestly don't know, _Liebling_.” Angela replied after a sigh of her own. “I want to forgive her, if just for your sake, but I don't think I can.”

She was quiet for a while, gazing into the slowly shrinking sun. The gold had turned to orange and was slowly bleeding into red and violet.

“I looked up to her, all those years ago. Idolized her. More than anyone else. She had given me this unique opportunity to help people on a scale I couldn't even have dreamt about, always kept encouraging me, pushing me past my limits when I thought I couldn't go any further. She was always there for me, cheering for my victories and holding me through my failures. She was the mother I didn't have in my life.”

Angela swallowed heavily, and Fareeha just knew how her face was contorted in anguish right now.

“Which makes this betrayal even worse. Of all the people in the world, she probably knows me best. She knew why I didn't want my technology weaponized, knew both the reasons I stated openly and the ones I kept to myself. So when I found out she went ahead and did it anyway...it was like the proverbial knife in the back. My own _et tu, brute?_ ”

Fareeha straightened herself, reached out and, hesitating only slightly upon seeing her prosthetic, pulled Angela's head onto her shoulder. The sudden reversal of positions was almost comical to both of them.

“You know, I came up here to talk about _your_ feelings.” Angela said with a smile, relaxing after her brief surprise and leaning heavily into Fareeha's sturdy frame.

“I'm okay, _ya amar_.” Fareeha replied, her hand almost automatically heading towards Angela's head to sink itself into her blonde locks, but reconsidering at the last second. Her military prosthetic had no coverings over the joints, and she didn't want to get Angela's hair all tangled up in there. “Really, I'm fine.”

Just a white little lie.

“As...cold as it may seem, I think you're more affected by Ana's return than me.”

Not exactly a lie, but not the whole truth either.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, watching as the last little curve of the sun dipped below the ocean, leaving them in the rapidly cooling twilight. More and more stars appeared overhead, and they craned their necks to watch them, thankfully unobstructed by clouds or drowned out by light pollution. They watched the constellations slowly rise. The big and little dipper to the north, the band of Orion and Sagittarius to the south. They got up silently when the first shivers trembled down Fareeha's bare arms, and shared a chaste, loving kiss.

“Just so you know,” Fareeha said when they turned to the door, “I don't think Caesar really said _et tu, brute,_ Shakespeare's made that one up.”

“Oh?” Angela challenged with a smirk and raised eyebrow. “So what do you think he said?”

“Considering the circumstances, probably something along the lines of 'hurrrgghhh'.”

Angela laughed at that, bright and uninhibited, and it lit Fareeha's face up more than any sunset could. But the moment passed when they turned to the door, Angela heading in first, and Fareeha hesitated for a moment before following, shoulders slacking with everything that awaited them downstairs.

“Once more unto the breach, dear friends.” she muttered to herself. “Once more.”

Winston and Angela weren't the only ones who knew their Shakespeare.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so i seriously went into this chapter intending to write about fareeha's troubles, but angela just kept butting her head in saying "yeah i know she's lost a hand and all, but i've got some _real_ problems over here!". she can be so damn persistent  >_>
> 
> song of the day is [right where it belongs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1jAyfGzSaz0) by nine inch nails. ran on repeat.


	3. Everybody gets a little lost sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone has deep-seated issues that no one talks about because everyone's an idiot :3

Angela quietly hummed to herself, some random tune while she was busy cataloging yet another batch of samples. This round of trials for her updated nanite firmware turned out quite insightful. Not quite there yet, but it gave her a very good idea on where to do some tweaking.

She was interrupted in her work by a disembodied voice: “You have an urgent call from the away team, Dr. Ziegler.”

“Thank you, Athena. Put it through on speakers.”

There was a moment of static before the connection went through.

“Oi Angela!” Lena's chirpy voice sounded through the room. That was a good sign.

“Before you start to worry, it's nothing serious. Just Captain Amari needing some attention when we get back.”

That got her attention. “What's happened to Fareeha?” she asked, samples all but forgotten.

“Oh, no no no,” Lena replied quickly, “Captain Amari senior.”

Angela deflated, leaning back into her chair. “Right. Have her come by first thing after you get back. And tell the others not to ditch their post-op check ups, either! You all know I'll get you eventually.”

Lena laughed and signed off, getting back to flying the VTOL.

_'And this could have been such a nice day.'_

* * *

“So what happened?” Angela asked with as dispassionate a voice as she could muster, inspecting the angry red skin on Ana's abdomen.

“Nothing serious. I was just too slow in taking out a sniper. He got me first.”

Angela merely hummed in acknowledgment while passing her handheld scanner over the site.

“You used one of your darts on the wound?”

Ana sighed, not liking where this conversation was heading. “Yes, I did, and I'm fine. I don't even know why I'm here, wasting your time.”

Angela righted herself from her hunched-over position, eyes narrowed. “This hasn't been the first time you treated a bullet wound like this, has it?”

“Yes, of course. I couldn't very well waltz into any doctor's office when everyone thought I was dead. And the darts helped just fine. Your tech is doing good work.”

She threw in a smile for good measure, hoping to placate the doctor. It didn't seem to work. Angela rummaged through a cart by the bedside and pulled out a device that looked like an oversized pen.

“Hold out a finger, please.”

“This doesn't have anything to do with me being shot, does it?” Ana asked, certain that this was just Angela's way of subtly punishing her.

The blonde sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before fixing Ana with a glare. “You got shot on a mission. I'm the resident doctor. It is my _duty_ to treat you for any conditions that might impair your mission readiness, and if you don't cooperate I won't clear you for active duty. So just give me. Your damn. _Finger_!”

Ana briefly considered being stubborn just to spite Angela, but that wouldn't get either of them anywhere. She held out her hand and Angela quickly brought down the device on the tip of her thumb. She felt a short prick before the instrument was withdrawn, wound already being sealed by the nanites administered along with the needle.

Angela looked at the display, her frown deepening.

“How often have you been shot in the last eight years? How many of the bullets are still in your body?”

Ana was taken aback by the question. “I, uh, I don't know. Five or six times, I'm not sure. Why? What does this have to do with anything?”

Angela ignored her question and fired off more of her own. “Have you been having headaches? Joint pains? Abdominal pain? You've been getting slower lately, right? Your reflexes aren't what they used to be, that's why that sniper got you. _Right_?”

Ana considered briefly, but couldn't for the life of her think of how this would be relevant for treating a simple bullet wound. Which was already closed.

“Yes, I guess, but...I'm not as young as I used to be. It's to be expected.”

Angela let loose a sardonic laugh, shaking her head briefly before she shoved the device into Ana's face, forcing her to read the display.

_Pl: >99 mcg/dL_

“You are getting older, yes. And you have lead poising from the _five or six bullets, I don't know_ stuck in your body.”

Ana could almost hear the air quotes. But Angela wasn't done.

“ _This_ is why you go to see a doctor if you've been shot. Why you don't treat yourself with technology you don't understand, technology that you've _stolen_. Do you even know how damn lucky you are?! Bullet fragments love nothing more than traveling around your body and fucking shit up! At any time in the last years one of these things could have gotten loose in your bloodstream, traveled to your heart, your lungs, your kidneys, your neck... Don't you think it would be difficult to breathe with a hole in your lungs, pump blood with a piece of metal blocking one of your heart valves?”

Ana had been sitting still like a rock throughout Angela's tirade. She'd had no idea. “I...I didn't...”

“You didn't know, yes. Because you don't have a medical degree. Because you don't know how the nanites in those darts work. Because you went on your damn crusade without thinking twice about the consequences. Without thinking twice about the _people you left behind_!”

“Don't you dare!” Suddenly she was standing up, face inches away from Angela's and contorted in an ugly snarl.

“ _Every day_ for these past eight years I've been thinking of Fareeha. Every day I wanted nothing more than to just go back, tell Fareeha how proud I am of her, of what she has achieved! Thinking of her was the only thing that kept me going, fighting for a better world for my daughter. You don't get to tell me how bad a mother I've been when you have _no idea_ of what I've sacrificed for her!”

Ana had expected a lot of things at this point. An icy glare accompanied by silence, Angela yelling right back at her with a volume few thought possible for the lithe doctor, some small part of her mind even prepared for getting punched in the face. Which explained why she was so thrown when, instead of any of these things, Angela smiled sadly. She had seen that smile on the blonde before, in the days of old Overwatch. When she had to deliver bad news to family and friends, telling soldiers that, despite her best efforts, their squad-mate hadn't made it. Her eyebrows were drawn together in a light frown, the corners of her mouth ever so lightly upturned, and her eyes were like crystal clear pools of sympathy and compassion. They probably taught that expression in med school, because it was the perfect non-verbal message of _'I'm about to tell you something you never wanted to hear, and I know the pain you're in right now, a pain that no words can soothe, but I'm gonna try anyway'_

Though she was pretty sure Angela would skip that last part.

“You haven't talked to Fareeha for eleven years. And only written short, terse letters for three years before that, ever since she joined the army. You sacrificed fourteen birthdays you could have spent with your daughter. You sacrificed holding her when she got her entire squad killed because she was _ordered_ to hold that damn bridge. You sacrificed advising her when she agonized over whether to leave the army for Helix. You sacrificed attending every single promotion or award ceremony, simply out of spite because Fareeha, a grown woman, had _dared_ to disobey you.”

Angela leaned heavily against the sick bed behind her, and for once she actually looked like someone at the end of her thirties, not twenty-five.

“You sacrificed sitting by her side and holding her hand while she had to spend months in rehab, learning how to walk and run and jump with a prosthetic leg. You sacrificed being there for her when she had her other leg removed so she could become a Raptora pilot.”

That one hurt. She hadn't known just how much Fareeha had sacrificed to become one of the select few, the best of the best. She realized Angela's sad smile wasn't meant for her. Its intended recipient was in the armory, cleaning and maintaining her Raptora suit.

And so she wasn't surprised when that smile fell, gave way to a carefully blank expression.

“You talk of your great many sacrifices, when you only sacrificed _one thing_ : being a mother to your daughter. You didn't do any of these things for her, you did it for yourself. To satisfy your twisted sense of self-righteousness, to feel like you still mattered in a world that had forgotten you. And now, now you think you can just waltz back into her life, make a grand show of how much you care for her, of what you sacrificed for her sake, and think she'll just forgive and forget almost one and a half decade of disdain and abandonment.”

It was eerily quiet in the med bay. Ana would never admit it, but Angela's words had struck deeper than she had ever thought possible. She wanted to say something, anything to defend herself, to justify her actions, but she just couldn't think of something. Angela had always been too smart, too observant for her own good. With just a one-sided, five-minute tirade she had made Ana question every single one of her decisions in the last few years.

Thankfully, it seemed like she was done.

“Lie down on the bed, I'll need to x-ray your entire body so I know where those _five or six bullets_ are hiding. They're coming out tomorrow. We'll start chelation therapy after the surgery, and you'll be back to your old, manipulative self in no time.”

Angela turned to walk away, but stopped at the privacy curtain and faced her once more.

“You know what the sad thing is, though? It will work.”

Ana looked at her, confusion written clearly on her face, but didn't get the time to pose a question.

“She'll rage and scream and yell at you, but in a few weeks she'll forgive and forget. Just like you wanted. Because, despite everything you did to her, she yearns to have her mother back in her life. She worked so hard to step out of your shadow, to be Captain Fareeha Amari, decorated war veteran, protector of the innocent; and not just Ana Amari's daughter. And she'd throw all of it away in a heartbeat for a single ' _I'm proud of you_ '. And I'll do my very best not to hate your guts because god knows she doesn't need any more of that drama in her life. She deserves heaven and the earth and everything in between, but all she's got is the two of us. So try and don't fuck it up this time.”

With that, Angela drew the curtain shut and walked off, leaving Ana in an oddly familiar scene that still felt altogether different.

* * *

Fareeha panted heavily as her fist connected yet again, sending the punching bag straining against its tethers, bouncing back just in time to catch the blow from her other fist. She was covered in sweat and a few strands of hair were plastered on her forehead, having come loose from the tight ponytail she'd trapped them in. Faster and faster the jabs came, with more force and louder grunts, but still it didn't feel right.

Her right fist would connect just a fraction of a second too early than she'd expect, than she'd been used to. She could throw much harder punches with it on account of it being solid titanium, yes, but that didn't matter when she couldn't have them land precisely where she wanted them to.

The rational part of her brain reminded her that this was to be expected, and just an adjustment period. In a few months' time she would occasionally even forget she ever lost her hand, because the prosthesis had become second nature to her. Just like her legs.

 _And during those few months?_ she thought bitterly, flying into yet another quick one-two combination, not stopping for even a moment.

_I missed over thirty per cent of my shots today, because I couldn't feel my trigger's actuation point._

Feint right, hook left.

_Twenty nine rockets, hitting nothing. Because I was lucky._

High-kick right.

 _All it takes is one errant rocket, in the wrong place, at the wrong time_.

Block left, jab right.

_I'm Captain Fareeha Amari, call sign Pharah, embodiment of justice. I don't cause collateral damage!_

She stilled for a moment, and an insidious voice popped into her head.

_You do now._

Fareeha gave a mighty roar and reared her arm back, delivering a brutal punch that would have shattered bones like china. The tether snapped and the bag fell to the ground uselessly. But she still wasn't done. Something stirred within her, something primal, something that wasn't satisfied with ruining a measly punching bag. She turned to a weight bench and gave a mighty heave, sending it crashing into a nearby treadmill. Had she been thinking clearly, she would have been impressed by how far she had actually thrown it.

But she wasn't thinking clearly, and all she could see was the cold gunmetal blue sticking out of her wrist. It was all just too much. She tore the hand off, ignoring the sharp pain of removing it without properly disconnecting it first, and flung it away with all her might.

The red haze vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and she was left with inspecting just how foolish she had been. The treadmill was ruined, as was the floor-to-ceiling mirror her prosthetic had crashed into. And the catharsis she had expected wasn't there. She just felt empty. Empty and embarrassed and miserable.

The exertion caught up to her, and she felt wobbly on her feet all of sudden. She quickly collapsed onto another weight bench, pressing her head into her hands. _Hand_. Force of habit. She would have laughed if she hadn't been afraid it would devolve into a hysterical crying fit. And she was better than that. She was...

“Fareeha!”

Her head swiveled to the entrance of the gym, and saw the last person she wanted to be seen by in this state.

“What happened?” Ana asked, hurrying to her side.

Her gaze involuntarily shot towards the prosthetic, lying discarded amongst mirror shards on the other side of the room. And of course, Ana being Ana, she caught the movement, quickly connecting the dots.

She crouched in front of Fareeha taking her left hand into both of hers, and looked at her with such a tender expression it almost physically hurt the younger Amari.

“Oh my dear _malak_ , what have they done to you?” she whispered, leaning forward to catch her daughter in an impossibly tight embrace. An embrace that was supposed to say so many things she couldn't properly put into words. So many ' _I'm sorry_ 's and ' _I love you_ 's and ' _I'm proud of you_ 's that had been left unsaid over the years, so many missed opportunities that could never be brought back.

“I never wanted any of this for you.” she said quietly into her daughter's hair, stricken by how much of her body had been taken by war and violence.

Ana was surprised by the firm shove that sent her onto her butt, fighting to keep her balance.

“So this is what it's about, mother?!” Fareeha spat, bitterness coating each one of her words.

“You come back after all these years, after all this time of me thinking I'm not good enough for you to waste your time to even just write a letter every now and then; and it's still only about what you wanted for me?”

Realization dawned on Ana, and she cursed herself for this foolish mistake. “I didn't mean it like that, _habibti_ , please understand.”

“No, mother, you meant it exactly like that, don't try to fool me! You never approved of anything I did. It was always about _your_ dream for _my_ future, _your_ visions of the grand things I would accomplish as a doctor or an engineer or an astronaut. You never considered what _I_ wanted to do with my life, not even once. Have you ever wasted even a second to think that maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what I wanted out of my life?”

Fareeha had gotten up and started to pace, and even a deaf person could have seen her agitation in her jerky movements, the way her arms flailed around in wild arcs while she gestured along to her words.

“I do what _you_ taught me to do. I protect innocent lives, the only way I know how. I've sacrificed more than you will ever know to keep this world and its people safe, and all you can think of is devaluing my entire life's work by saying, yet again, how _you_ never wanted any of this for me.”

She stopped her nervous stalking and looked at her mother, sitting on the floor wide-eyed, and tiredly shook her head.

“You haven't changed one bit. It's still only about what you think is best for everyone else. Why did you even come back if you still don't care about me, but what I _could_ _have become_?”

Ana got up, fighting desperately to keep the tears at bay, and tried to think of anything to convince her daughter that ' _no, you've got it all wrong, I care only about you, about the wonderful woman you have become_ ', but didn't get a chance to say even a syllable.

“I don't want to hear it.” Fareeha said with her back turned, cutting off anything Ana might have wanted to get out. “No matter what it is, I wouldn't believe you anyway. Just get out.”

Her mother would not be deterred. “Fareeha, please, just give me...”

Fareeha whirled around eyes red and filling with tears. “No, _Ana_ , I won't give you anything. Just leave me alone!”

Ana recoiled as if she'd been bitten by a snake, unable to form even a coherent thought, let alone any words. So she acquiesced, turning around and walking to the door, throwing back a last, suffering look at her daughter before she left.

Fareeha managed to remain calm until the door fell closed before she broke down, falling to her knees and sobbing openly.

* * *

She leaned against one of the pillars, the spot chosen specifically because it couldn't be seen from the doors, and hugged her knees to her chest. She didn't know how much time had passed since her mother had left, but it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes when the doors opened again. The harsh sound made her flinch. She was in no condition to face anyone right now, let alone argue with her mother if she'd chosen to come back.

“Bärli?”

Angela's voice made her flinch. She was the at the same time first and last person she wanted to see right now.

“I know you're in here, Fareeha. Talk to me.” she called softly, trying to ignore the mess. She heard a shuffling sound and her gaze zeroed in on the source, scouring the room until she spotted just the tip of an elbow peeking out behind one of the pillars.

She came face to face with her girlfriend, and couldn't help the pained smile blooming on her face.

“You look like a mess.”

Fareeha snorted, hiding her face behind her knees and sniffling. “You think so?”

Angela knelt down next to her and scooped her into her arms, tucking her head against her neck and running her hand through Fareeha's hair, a consistent and calming motion.

“Yeah, but you're _my_ mess.”

Fareeha laughed again before it dissolved into small sniffles, and it wasn't long before Angela felt the wetness against her neck, slowly rocking them both and holding Fareeha as tightly as she could.

“It's okay, sweetheart, I've got you. You're okay.”

She didn't tell her that it had been Ana who had approached her, looking stricken like never before, and had quietly said that ' _Fareeha needs her girlfriend right now._ '

Bringing up Ana would be counterproductive in this situation. At least that's what she told herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bärli" = little bear in german/swiss german  
> for some reason I like to take strong, independent women, and make them cry. I have issues ._.  
> chapter title is taken from A Silver Mt. Zion's [Goodbye Desolate Railyard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_34xKiWXiM). Song of the day is also from a silver mt. Zion: [mountains made of steam](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=unb3m_6ceZQ).  
> I also have a [patreon](https://www.patreon.com/valathe) now. If you want to waste your money supporting me, find out more on my profile page.  
> Cheers :)


	4. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela and Fareeha enjoy a lazy morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is basically just pure, tooth-rotting fluff. i think i need the counterweight for the last (and future) chapters.

Fareeha sighed and burrowed herself deeper into the covers, deeper into the warm body lying next to her. It was one of those rare days, when they were both able, _and willing_ , to sleep in.

Despite the comfortable warmth, the quiet and peace of the room, sleep wouldn't come to her again. Instead she was stuck in this groggy state between sleep and wakefulness, this twilight zone of barely-there thoughts – ethereal constructs that swirled just out of reach of her mind, dissipating into nothing as soon as she tried to focus on them.

So instead of thinking, she observed. Watched how Angela's chest slowly rose and fell beneath her head. Felt the warm, pale skin on her abdomen as her hand trailed lazy circles over it. It really was something, that hand of hers. If it weren't for the thin gap on her wrist, it would look completely natural. And it felt so real, too. It had taken barely any time before she had gotten used to it, to the way sensations were transmitted just a little differently to the nerves in her wrist, up her arm, into her brain.

And it was in no small part due to the person right next to her, blissfully asleep. Angela would never admit it to anyone, probably even herself, but any impartial outsider could see it clearly: her research in nanite technology had been the greatest leap forward in the field of medicine since the discovery of antibiotics.

And yet she was just another human being, she'd said so herself many a time. A woman with hopes and dreams, fears and regrets, and like all humans are so wont to do she often ignored the former and focused only on the latter. Right now, in the abandon of peaceful sleep, her face relaxed from the almost constant worried frown, she looked so beautiful it nearly took Fareeha's breath away. She still sometimes found herself not quite believing how incredibly lucky she had gotten. It was in quiet moments like these that she found her heart swelling, overflowing with fondness and appreciation and _love_ ; and not even that small, irrational part of her brain that always told her the other shoe was bound to drop sooner or later could ruin it.

She moved her hand to Angela's face, slowly tracing her fingers down a soft cheek, over her pliant lips, across her gentle brow, like she got to touch her for the first time. And always, always she marveled at how young she looked, like someone barely over twenty and not going towards forty. A side effect of the nanites, no doubt, but she'd be the last person to complain. Except when she compared it to herself, maybe. Just the other day she had noticed the faintest, barely-there hint of crow's feet in the corners of her eyes.

All of those musings flew out the window when Angela stirred, mumbling incoherently before slowly cracking her eyes open.

“Guete Morge, Bärli.” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the hand still hovering over her face. And that simple gesture made Fareeha melt all over again. Even barely conscious Angela knew exactly what to do to make her feel better, feel loved, feel _whole_. She didn't care that the hand she'd kissed was metal and silicon instead of flesh and bone. It was part of Fareeha, like her legs, like her other hand, like that gentle, loving heart beating in her chest. Like Angela was a part of Fareeha now, a part that was inextricably woven into her life.

“Sabah al-khayr, malak.” Fareeha replied, pressing herself impossible closer, leaving feather-light kisses all over her exposed neck.

“Stop that, 'Reeha, that tickles!” Angela giggled, half-heartedly trying to shove her girlfriend away. Fareeha's hand went to her waist, trailing soft circles around her hip bone while intensifying her kisses. It wasn't long before Angela tilted her head, allowing Fareeha better access, and a soft moan escaped her. That's when she chose to strike, launching a devastating tickle-attack upon an unsuspecting civilian population.

Angela snorted in the split-second it took her to recover from the tactile whiplash, and then erupted into shrieks and laughter and tried her best to turtle up, to deny her girlfriend any access to her sensitive spots. It was a losing battle.

Fareeha relented after a minute or two, and only after a very convincing ' _stop or I'll pee myself!_ '. They ended up lying on their sides, facing each other, while Angela still fought off the occasional residual giggle, her face adorably flushed.

“I love you, ya amar.” Fareeha whispered, gazing into those impossibly deep blue eyes. Angela merely brought their mouths together in response, pulling her into a deep and loving kiss.

“I love you too.” she said after they broke apart, trying and failing to hide the grin that took over her face. “Though I think I'll love you even more after we've both brushed our teeth.”

Fareeha laughed and lightly swatted her shoulder, and then proceeded to throw her arm around Angela's waist.

“Five more minutes, habibti.” she whined, doing her best toddler impression complete with facial expressions, and Angela had no choice but to relent. They settled against each other, duvet pulled up to their shoulders.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” Fareeha mumbled after a few minutes, getting lost in the warm and secure embrace of her lover.

“Me too.” Angela replied with a small chuckle, but her tone became oddly serious when she continued: “But that's just the problem with _now_ , isn't it? Because no matter how much we want it to, it doesn't last forever.”

Fareeha pouted, unseen with her face nestled against Angela's, chest, but she was sure her girlfriend knew her well enough by now to not have to see it. “Stop ruining my daydreams with your silly _logic_ and _reason_ thingamabobs.”

Angela chuckled again, and merely responded by wrapping her arms even tighter around Fareeha after pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

Their peace was not to last, though. As if she'd jinxed it, both their communicators sounded off with klaxon alarms, the signal for all agents to assemble in the situation room as soon as possible.

Fareeha groaned at the same time as Angela sighed, and they both shared one last moment before dragging themselves out of bed and silencing their alarms.

“Guess oral hygiene has to wait, huh?” Fareeha teased while she hastily got dressed, which elicited a tutting reprimand from Angela.

“And here I was, about to offer you a breath mint. Them's the breaks, I suppose.”

She sauntered past Fareeha, demonstratively sticking out her tongue with a mint on it, before joining the trickle of agents in the hallway, leaving a flustered Fareeha to finish tying up her boots.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> morning breath, the arch nemesis of every romantic 'waking up scene' I've ever tried to write ._.  
> anyway, next chapter will deal with this mysterious 'all hands on deck'-alarm. by my current reckoning we've got about three chapters of this story left. You're gonna hate me, love me again, and then...well, that would be telling :P  
>   
> song of the day is [release](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EE8cHnA1SK8) by rosetta, namesake and provider of philosophical musings for the chapter  
>   
> that's all  
> cheers :)


	5. Not Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit goes down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Bumped the rating up to M for violence/injuries**

„Alright people, gather round.“

Jack motioned to the holographic table, a topographic map of a moderately-sized town and the surrounding countryside on displayed.

„Fifteen minutes ago we received intel on a situation that definitely needs our attention. This,“ he motioned towards the projection, „is the city of Oujda in Morocco, right on the border to Algeria. As you can see, there's a huge refugee camp on its outskirts, filled with people fleeing the civil war.“

A quick gesture made the display zoom in on a three-dimensional representation of the camp, a sprawling slum of ramshackle huts, tents, and shipping containers. They were all arranged around a lone actual building.

„This is the central structure, where the camp leaders gather; but it mostly serves as a hospital. We were tipped off that someone plans to blow it up.”

The reactions around the table were mixed, and just like expected. Mei-Ling gasped in shock while Reinhardt shook his head and muttered under his breath. Both Ana and Fareeha crossed their arms in front of their chests and cocked their heads to the side, gazing intently at the hologram. Angela would have found that unintended synchronicity funny if she herself wasn't busy running numbers in her head. The number of people who could be in the building, based on its size. How many of those would be killed, how many injured, depending on the type and yield of the explosives used. How they would best go about setting up triage areas, what sort of supplies they'd have on-site, what they would need to bring with them. Maybe, just maybe, they could even make it there in time and stop the bomb from going off in the first place.

Decidedly too man question marks for her taste, but she'd learned to adjust to rapidly changing circumstances. It was the only way to survive as a battlefield medic.

“How quickly could local authorities be at the scene?” she finally asked.

“A few minutes, I suppose,” Jack answered, “but they won't come. They don't give a shit about these refugees. The locals see them as leeches and parasites. We've got to do this ourselves.”

He looked around the assembled people meaningfully.

“Luckily it's close-by, and our Orcas only need about half an hour to get there. We'll keep the team small, I don't want to spook the bombmakers by showing up in force.” A brief pause for dramatic effect. Angela hated these pauses.

“Zaryanova, the Amaris, Vasvani, and Doc. Suit up and meet me in the hangar in fifteen. Oxton, get the second Orca ready for a rapid take-off just in case. I got a bad feeling about this.”

Their reactions to the obvious conclusion of the meeting were equally varied. Aleks, Ana, and Fareeha, all professional soldiers, snapped to crisp salutes before turning on their heels and marching out. Satya gazed at the hologram a little while longer, until she had found whatever she was looking for, and quietly shuffled out of the room.

Angela lingered until everyone had left and only Jack remained. They'd worked together long enough to know when one wanted a private conversation with the other.

“Something on your mind, Doc?” Jack asked after he shut off the projector, plunging the room into brief darkness before the overhead lights slowly faded in.

“Yes, Jack.” Angela replied evenly. “Do you know anything about this mission that you haven't told us?”

He looked at her with a frown, hesitating for a moment. “What makes you think I do, Angela?”

She chuckled mirthlessly. “Don't play me for a fool, Jack!” Angela snapped, gaze as icy as her voice was hard. There'd been no love lost between them ever since Angela had discovered Jack had survived the explosion at the Overwatch HQ. And what part he'd played in it.

“Risking our only backup Orca is hardly according to protocol, and if there's one thing about you that hasn't changed it's your stiffy for rules and regs. So tell me, Jack...what haven't you told us?”

He held her stare for a second before he slumped into a char, wearily running a hand through his short hair.

“I'm not sure how accurate that intel is. And I'm worried about the source.”

Angela crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Who is the source, then?”

“I don't know.” he simply stated. “That's not what worries me, though. It's _how_ we got it.”

Angela furrowed her brows in confusion, waiting for him to elaborate.

“A folder with all the info just...popped up on my computer. Literally. I have no idea where it came from, and Athena is unable to trace its source. And if someone can hack Athena, without her even realizing it...”

Angela's eyes went wide when she realized the possible implications. Each and every one of them could be compromised in some form or another if a hacker got root-level access to Athena's systems.

“My god.” she whispered.

“Yeah, I know.” Jack replied with a sigh. “Well, there isn't much we can do about it right now. Winston is already working on a hard disconnect from the outside, and a thorough check of all her systems. And meanwhile...”

“Meanwhile we've got a job to do, just in case the intel is actually legitimate.” Angela finished his thought. She sighed as well, not liking this new development in the slightest.

They were silent in contemplation for a few moments before Jack slapped his thighs and got up from the chair. “Well, we should get ready. We've already wasted enough time here.”

Angela wouldn't call that time wasted, but she had to agree that she would be hard-pressed to make it to the hangar within the remaining ten minutes. Putting on the suit had always been a pain.

* * *

Among Jack's many skills that he seemed to pull out of thin air was being able to pilot the Orca. The ride wasn't as smooth as it would have been with Lena on the helm, but he got them there quickly nonetheless. He had just set down the VTOL on the outskirts of the camp, about one and a half klick from the makeshift hospital, when the plane groaned and shuddered from the impact of a massive blast wave.

“Shit.” Jack hissed under his breath. Alright, people,” he said out loud, “this has gone from a combat OP to search and rescue. Everyone do what you do best. I want each of you to still carry some small arms, just in case.”

Angela was about to protest, but kept her thoughts to herself. They didn't have the time for a lengthy argument, and she doubted she'd be able to convince him anyway. She needed to convince him to do something different anyway.

“Jack, let everyone else get off and then fly me and Fareeha right over the blast side. We can do an airdrop.”

He opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but she cut him off before he could even utter a syllable.

“No buts, Jack. That's where we're needed the most.”

He was quite for a second before he nodded. “Okay. You heard her, people, get off and make it there on foot. Double time!”

He didn't even bother raising the ramp when he took off again, and within a minute they were hovering over the rapidly rising plume of thick, black smoke.

“Take care of yourselves out there!” he shouted over the roar of the engines coming through the open door. Angela shared a brief glance with Fareeha 'no, it's just Pharah now' and the leapt out of the plane. She thought she could hear Jack shout “everyone you can fit on the damn plane!” before there was just the noise of the engines, and the whoosh of air rushing past her ears. About sixty feet off the ground she let her wings flare, braking her free fall, until she was gently floating to the ground and touched down with the grace and fluidity of years of experience

Everyone's eyes were trained on her, and she could only imagine what she must've looked like to them in her suit, gliding out of the dark column of smoke like a mythical being. She'd designed the Valkyrie with such situations in mind. Pharah's arrival, by contrast, seemed to startle them, even though she'd left her rocket launcher on the plane and exchanged it for a small submachine gun, awkwardly slung around her shoulder.

“Do they understand your Arabic here?” she asked, her intention clear.

“Different accent, but it should be fine.” her companion replied. “I'll translate for you.”

She shared a brief smile with Pharah before she raised her voice. “Everyone remain calm, we are here to help you!”

Pharah's melodious voice picked right up, and soon they were swarmed by desperate people, either having been hurt themselves or begging for aid for a relative. She quickly got to work, assessing wounds and administering treatment, either through her caduceus staff or the supplies she'd brought with her. And with that aid came the part of her job she hated the most: having to send people away, either because their injuries were too light to demand immediate attention, or too severe to be treated at all. She knew, of course, that every minute she spent treating someone who wouldn't make it anyway was a minute she couldn't spend on someone who still had a chance. But the emotional part of her mind wasn't bothered by such things as logic and reason, and kept a constant tally to torment her with later. Searing into her brain the image of a boy who was desperately gasping, drowning in his own blood with a piece of rebar sticking out of his chest; a woman who'd been too close to the explosion, whose polyester clothes had melted into her skin.

She'd remember the despair in the keening wails of a mother whom she'd had to tell that there was nothing she could to for her child. The vitriolic hate in the eyes of a man who held on to his dying wife she couldn't save. Sometimes being recognized was a curse as much as a blessing. Those people knew her as Mercy, the symbol of hope, the prodigy who had _cured death_. If she'd realized just how much those headlines would come to haunt her, she'd have pushed back harder, fought to get the actual truth into the news, instead of those gross oversimplifications and exaggerations.

Because _of course_ she hadn't cured death. All she'd done was create a method to pull someone back from the brink, get their heart pumping again, by expending a stupefying amount of nanites. Nanites who could patch over wounds, who could act as temporary replacements for red blood cells, who could resume carrying oxygen to the brain. At least long enough to get someone to a hospital. And that just wasn't feasible in a disaster zone such as this. She could treat hundreds of people with the amount of nanites she'd need to resuscitate just a few, and while she hated doing it, in these situations medicine had to be treated as a numbers game. Ensure the best possible care for the greatest possible number of people, given the circumstances.

Things got a little more manageable after the rest of the team arrived, about fifteen minutes after they'd touched down. Shrike, Symmetra, and Soldier:76 set up a triage area, separating people based on the severity of their injuries; while Pharah and Medved* went to work digging through the rubble with the help of locals, trying to rescue anyone who might still be alive in the ruins of the building.

After about two hours the most severe cases had been treated to the best of their abilities, but there were still many people who were in critical condition. Which was why she was slightly annoyed when Pharah called for immediate assistance.

“Can't this wait, Phar...”

“We found someone in the debris, a little girl!” Pharah replied over the radio. “She still alive, but needs help _now_!”

Mercy hesitated for a second, evaluating the situation. All the injured here were at least stable, if critical in some cases. It wouldn't hurt if she went to take a look.

“On my way.” she replied.

She picked her way through the rubble, having to crawl on all fours at one point to fit through a small hole, and then came upon a slightly larger space where she could walk almost upright. It would have been pitch dark if not for the flashlights built into Pharah's suit, and they were trained on a small girl who was stuck under a large slab of concrete. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, and her twitching indicated that she was at least somewhat conscious. Pharah had removed her helmet and was talking to her, murmuring words Mercy didn't know, but understood well enough through her tone. _“Everything is going to be fine.”_

Mercy knelt down next to the girl, taking her hand and smiling reassuringly.

“Hey there, little one, how are you holding up? Do you have a name?”

Pharah translated for her.

“Maysa.” the girl replied with a shaky voice.

“It means _graceful_.” Pharah said quietly.

“That's a beautiful name, Maysa. I'm Angela, and I'm here to help you.”

She hoped she didn't just lie to the girl. With a motion she directed Pharah to shine her lights directly at the girl's legs which were trapped beneath the steel beam. She pulled out a flashlight of her own and shone it into the small space between the ground and the beam, and physically deflated. She had lied.

“There's nothing we can do for her.” she said, and suddenly Pharah's lights were on her, making her squint her eyes.

“But...but why? She's just stuck under that beam! If we get Zarya in here we can pull her out and she'll be fine. You will _make_ her fine, right?”

Mercy sighed and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“She's been trapped here for too long. She has crush syndrome. The muscles in her legs are dead and dying, releasing tons of toxic chemicals. Right now they're stuck in the the dead tissue, but as soon as we relieve the pressure they'll rush back into her bloodstream and overwhelm her kidneys. She'll be dead within fifteen minutes. I just don't have the resources I'd need to prepare her for extraction.”

Pharah was stunned. The girl was in pain, constantly asking for her parents, wanting to get out of there, but...she seemed fine otherwise.

“What...” she had to swallow before she could get the words out, “what if we amputated her legs? Then the chemicals wouldn't get into her bloodstream either.”

As if she hadn't thought about that already. “She's already lost a lot of blood, and I don't have much of my nanite solution left. I can't spend it all on her, Pharah.”

“Yes you can, _Angela_!” Pharah yelled, startling both her and the girl. “She's just a child, you...you have to do _something_!”

“And what would you have me do, _Fareeha_?!” she yelled back. “There's dozens of people still in critical condition up there! Children, like her. Parents, siblings. And most of them won't make it if I can't treat them with my nanites. Do _you_ want to tell their relatives they had to die because I spent all of it on one girl?!”

She sighed again, willing herself to calm down. She couldn't take out her frustrations on Fareeha.

“But she's...I...that's not...that's not fair.”

Angela almost spat when she heard _that_ word.

“That's how the world is, Fareeha. Harsh, cruel, _unfair_. That's the kind of fucked up stuff I have to deal with _every single time_ I put on this damned suit. I thought you of all people would understand.”

She regretted that last sentence as soon as she'd said it, but it was too late to take it back. She pinched bridge of her nose.

“I'm sorry, 'reeha. I didn't mean to...I'm sorry.”

Fareeha didn't answer, at first, only replying with a cool, dispassionate “Understood.” after a few moments. Fareeha was gone, and Pharah was back. And it was high time for Mercy to replace Angela once again, too. She reached into her bag and pulled out a quick-shot injector, handing it to Pharah after slotting an ampule in its slot. “Give her this when the pain becomes too much, but no more than two shots., and at least forty minutes apart. She has a few hours left down here. I'll try to find her family, so they can say goodbye.”

Pharah nodded once, and Mercy turned to leave again, hesitating when she saw wet tracks glistening on Pharah's cheeks. She reached out with her gloved hand, wiping the tears away with her thumb.

“I'm sorry.” she whispered, before turning and walking out as quickly as she could. There were still many people who needed her help.

* * *

Nine hours after the explosion they finally received aid from the local authorities, after news of the explosion had traveled around the world, and the Moroccan government was faced with harsh critique and pressure over their inaction. Fifteen hours after the explosion Mercy slumped into a chair, getting as comfortable as she could with the wings on her back. She'd done everything she could. Beyond this point, she'd have to trust the local doctors to do their job. She was completely spent, physically and emotionally, and couldn't wait to get out of the sticky suit and under a hot shower, and into her bed.

Maysa had died two hours after she'd left her in that dark hole, with no one but Fareeha to give her comfort. They hadn't managed to find her family. She would have cried if she had had any energy left. Even after almost two decades in this job, she had trouble detaching herself from these situations, especially if children were involved. The optimist in her said that this was a good thing, that it meant she hadn't turned into a bitter, jaded cynic, like many doctors did. That brief thought forced a derisive scoff from her throat.

“Hey.”

Her eyes snapped open at the timid greeting, and she saw Fareeha, standing there awkwardly.

“Hey yourself.” she replied, and couldn't help the tired smile that crept onto her face. A smile that fell immediately when she realized _why_ she was standing there awkwardly.

“Listen, about earlier...” she started, but Fareeha cut her off.

“No, you don't have to say anything. I understand. I got attached, got too emotional, and...I understand. I'm sorry”

Angela stood up with a groan and wound her arms around Fareeha's waist, resting her head on an armored pauldron.

“No, Fareeha, _I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I...” She trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

“Let's just get home and talk about it tomorrow, ya amar. When we aren't about to fall asleep while standing up.”

She chuckled lightly, mostly because she could already feel her eyelids droop.

“Sounds like a plan, Bärli.”

Their quiet moment was interrupted by Jack. “Come on you two, we have to make a quick detour on our way back.”

They both groaned simultaneously, bur were immediately alert when his next words registered.

“Moroccan police have picked up two people who tried to cross the border to Algeria, carrying a large amount of explosives. They've asked us to do the interrogation.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this turned out way longer than I had intended, so I might have to add another chapter to my original estimation. Oh well  
>   
> *Medved: it kinda bothers me that some agents have code names or monikers, and others don't. Shrike is rather obvious I hope, and I just made up this one for Zarya. It means Bear in russian (if google didn't lie to me, that is)  
>   
> song of the day is [Bizancio](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4X7hqVMZBU) by Toundra  
>   
> tell me what you think.  
> cheers


	6. On Impulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even an almost angelic patience has its limits, and Angela finds hers during the interrogation of the duo seemingly responsible for the bombing.

Angela spent the short flight to the police station swinging between being fatigued to the point where she worried about falling asleep while standing upright; and an anxious alertness that had her endlessly fidgeting, so much so that she almost accidentally hit Fareeha in the face when her wings flared up sharply. An apologetic glance toward her girlfriend revealed that she wasn't faring much better, although she was very good at concealing it. It was only the little things that gave her away, like the constant twitching of her eyes to and fro, as if she were still on the battlefield scanning for hostiles.

When they touched down on a dusty, deserted town square, the anxiety finally won out. She wanted answers, and she wanted them _now_.

A haggard-looking man in a uniform led them through winding corridors into the basement of the building, explaining the situation with about as much enthusiasm as a sloth. Or Hana after she'd just woken up.

“They captured them as they were trying to blow a hole through the border fence.” Fareeha translated quietly. “Apparently with enough ordnance to level a small mountain.”

They rounded a final corner and came upon a long corridor with multiple heavy steel doors leading off to either side.

“They keep them separated, but other than that have obviously no idea what they're supposed to do with them. Apparently the _large one_ says nothing at all, while the _crazy one_ keeps talking so fast they can't make heads nor tails of it.”

They shared an uneasy glance when they came to a stop before the last two doors to either side of the corridor.

“Alright, Pharah is with me, with the big one. Shrike goes with you to talk to the small one.” Jack said to Angela. She cocked her head, wondering why in the world he'd force her and Ana into a small room. Even he couldn't be _that_ oblivious to the current state of their relationship.

_'Whatever'_ , she thought, squaring her shoulders. ' _Maybe he's trying to force us to bond, or something like that.'_

They both entered the room, a standard affair with barren concrete walls, a two-way mirror, and a table and chairs bolted to the floor. But the sight that greeted her was nothing short of grotesque. A small, lithe man was lounging in an almost impossible position in his steel chair, constantly twitching and wringing his hands. His smell of cordite and phosphorus was overpowering, and _was his hair actually on fire?!_ He missed both his right leg and hand, and wore prosthetics that basically _screamed_ homemade. But the one thing that truly unsettled her was the look in his eyes. Equal parts mania and insanity, and a well-concealed glint of intelligence. She knew they'd have to tread lightly around this man.

“Who are you, and why did you blow up that building in the refugee camp?” Ana asked straight away, forgoing the chair and leaning on the table. So much for subtlety.

“Blimey, no ' _hello_ 's, no ' _how are you doing_ 's, no introductions, that's just no way to treat a _gentleman_ , now is it? Whatever happened to proper mannerisms, I wonder?”

Ana leaned in as much as she could, trying her best to appear menacing with her glowing mask. “You do not get to ask any questions, _scum_. Now answer, before I introduce your face to my fist!”

Angela probably should have seen his response coming, given his appearance and demeanor so far, but it still surprised her: he looked at Ana for a stunned moment, before breaking out into shrieking laughter.

“I thought I'd never see the day!” he howled between bouts of laughing, at one point actually wiping tears from his eyes. “So you're the bad cop, and the other sheila over there is the good one?”

It seemed like he'd noticed Angela's presence for the first time, and something almost visibly clicked in his mind.

“Ooohhh, wait a minute, so _you're_ that angel lady that creepy bloke cracked such a fat on. Bugger it, now I gotta pay him back.”

Had Angela seen the look on her own face, she probably would have broken down laughing, too. As it was, the only thing she managed to do was utter “I...uh... _what_?!”

To the man's credit he only started giggling when he dove into his explanation. “You see, a few weeks ago this wannabe grommet walked into our hideout like he owned the place and started talking and talking, and frankly it made my head hurt. Though that could also be from the whacking when I called his mask thingamabob a skull, and then he went into this spiel about owls and symbols and it got really long-winded so I stopped paying attention.”

She shot Ana a look of utter disbelief, and imagined she wore a similar expression beneath her mask; all the while the lunatic continued to prattle on.

“...so Roadie had had enough of his whinge and just whacked 'im with a good load from his gun, and then that bloke just _turned into smoke_ , I shit ya not, and started cackling like one of those movie villains. So then he talked about these guys who had stolen his cookies or something and how he wanted them dead, especially _you_ there.”

That grabbed her attention again, and she refocused on his monologue. They both wisely refrained from interrupting him.

“And so he dumped this load of cash that he pulled out of his arse on the table, and said he wanted some big fireworks for you people, and that here would be good spot to get you all. We just had to rig the place up good and wait for you to march in. so I thought, ' _hang on, they ain't gonna be stupid, they'll bugger the fuck outta there when they get a whiff of my special brew_ ', and then it came to me: delayed explosions! Genius!”

“Delayed explosions? Explain yourself!” Ana barked. Angela couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine when she realized how all of them could have been blown up back in the camp.

Thankfully Ana's interruption didn't seem to derail his train of thought, quite the contrary. He seemed to take genuine pleasure and excitement from people being interested in his sick scheme.

“You see, it would have been brilliant! First a smaller explosion, you know, just a few blokes dead, and then you hero types would swoop in and save everyone, and then the _real_ bomb would go off! Would have gotten you all good, you see, in a big ball of _fire_!”

His explanation became more and more animated, with wild gestures and barely-contained laughing, and still he went on.

“So I might have made the first blast a _little bit_ too strong and it set off the other one right away, which was kind of a bummer. But it was such a beautiful explosion, you should have seen it! All the debris flying around, the people screaming, it was gorgeous!”

Something within Angela snapped. She had just spent the last fifteen hours treating the victims of this maniac. Had seen families torn apart, people shattered by grief and loss, and this degenerate talked about it like an achievement? She sprung into action, crossing the distance in three quick strides before picking him up and, in a feat of strength she would've thought impossible in her exhaustion, _threw_ him against the nearest wall. She heard a satisfying ' _thunk_ ' as the back of his head connected with the concrete, and held him in place before he could move in any way.

“Du mieses Stück Scheiße!” she snarled, faces so close their noses almost touched, and for a brief moment she could see genuine fear flicker through his eyes.

“Aren't you supposed to be the good sheila here?” he mumbled through a nervous giggle, trying to look anywhere but at her.

“You killed forty nine people, and injured over a hundred, and you're _proud of that_?!” she shouted in her righteous fury.

“I, well, it was just those Arab omnic-loving scrubs, ain't no one missing them, right?” he replied shakily.

Before anyone could react she'd drawn her pistol and shoved it under his chin so hard his head cracked back against the wall.

“You degenerate filth!” she growled, pressing the muzzle even harder into the soft flesh beneath his jaw while her finger tensed on the trigger.

Before she could pull it, though, her arm was yanked away. She whipped her head around to see Ana wrenching the pistol from her grip.

“What the hell are you doing?!” she hissed at the doctor, moments before the door burst open and a group of policemen stormed into the room, guns drawn and pointed at them. They started yelling in Arabic, Ana slowly raising both of her hands and calmly replying, obviously trying to defuse the situation.

It slowly dawned on Angela what she'd been about to do and she let go of the lunatic, stumbling back until she hit the table with the back of her thighs. The commotion continued around her but she payed it no attention, all of her efforts instead focused on stopping her hands from shaking.

She remembered very little from that point onward. Jack's disapproving voice, rough hands that shoved her through the corridors and back outside. Waving off a concerned Fareeha, sitting by herself on the Orca; actually wanting to fall asleep but unable to. It all blurred together, became white noise. She knew what was happening, of course. Her mind was trying to disassociate, to deal with what she had just gone through in the last 20 hours. Only it was doing a terrible job at it.

* * *

She was immensely grateful that Jack didn't insist on an immediate mission debrief. She went through her post-OP routine on autopilot, deciding (for once) to delay cleaning and maintenance of her gear until after she'd slept. The communal shower was deserted, much to her relief, and she spent an inordinate amount of time under the hot water. The images replayed in her mind. Maimed bodies. Torn off limbs. Crying children and dead parents, crying parents and dead children. _Her almost killing someone in cold blood._

There definitely weren't tears mixing with the water running down her face. Her red and puffy eyes were obviously due to her exhaustion.

When she had finally composed herself she was already dangerously swaying on her feet. It was high time she finally got to her bed, though by now she'd make do with any moderately comfortable surface. Angela fetched her towel and dried herself off, not bothering with her hair at all. She'd have to fight with a nest of tangles come morning, but right now she didn't care.

Just as she was about to finish getting dressed for the trek to her room the door opened and Fareeha strode in, covered in oil stains and sweat. _She_ never put off maintenance of her gear, but Angela was well past the point of feeling guilty.

“Angela...” Fareeha started but trailed off. She seemed to realize that now wasn't the right moment to have a serious conversation. Or any conversation at all, really. The Egyptian took a deep breath.

“I'll see you in our quarters soon. Unless you want to be alone tonight?”

Angela considered for a second, but in all honesty, Fareeha needn't have asked in the first place.

“No.” she said, quietly, and hated herself for sounding so _weak_ and _needy_ with just that single word.

Fareeha graced her with a gentle smile and reached out, but stopped herself at the last second. She probably didn't want to get her all dirty right after taking a shower, but this was yet again an example for why she loved this woman so much. No matter how disgusting she must've felt herself, no matter how tired she was, her first thought was always the safety and well-being of others. Including mental well-being.

“I'll see you as soon as I'm finished.” Fareeha finally said, and started to shimmy out of her clothes.

Angela briefly considered waiting for her to finish her shower, but a huge yawn, followed by droopy eyelids made her decide otherwise. Fareeha had done enough today, she wouldn't burden her any more by making her carry her sleeping form to their bed. And so she made the trek, shuffling footsteps and doubling back after accidentally taking a right where she should've taken a left, until she finally, _finally_ , collapsed onto her bed; falling asleep before she could even take off her fuzzy slippers.

She woke briefly during the night to find that Fareeha had slipped into bed beside her, spooning her from behind with a strong arm securely wrapped around her waist. Her slippers were off and she was covered by a warm blanket; and she sluggishly turned around in Fareeha's embrace, entangling their legs and nuzzling into the crook of her neck. Her sleep-addled mind recognized that there was _something_ clamoring for attention, something that would keep her up if she let it past the barrier of sleepy exhaustion, but for now the soft, warm body next to her was all that mattered, and sleep quickly found her again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry about the delay. this chapter just refused to come together; i'm still less than pleased with it but i'Ve got to publish it at _some_ point. it's been lying on my harddrive for almost three weeks by now and i've kept picking at it, but...oh well, no use dwelling on it. i might do a re-write at some point in the future (though knowing me, probably not  >_>)  
>   
> song of the day is [sugar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i5x7lvSImIM) by made out of babies. basically what i imagine junkrat's mind to sound like from the inside  
>   
> cheers


	7. The Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela comes to a conclusion that goes against everything she stands for. And yet, she has to make do, for the greater good. Or so she tells herself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look, this fic isn't dead. only i am, on the inside ._.
> 
> note that basically everything except for the very last scene has been written well in advance of the moira reveal, and this story will follow the original outline and not incorporate the new canon.

The next afternoon found Angela sitting in the med bay, slowly twirling with her office chair, while she pondered a question that she knew had only one answer. No matter how she looked at the issue, it all boiled down to just one viable approach, an approach that went against everything she stood for. But she realized there was no real way around it, and now she somehow had to come up with reasons for why it was the _right thing_ to do.

She had to kill the Reaper. Personally. Because no one else could do it. She had to put down the monster she herself had created, all those years ago. The day her neatly ordered world had collapsed in the firestorm at Overwatch HQ. The day Gabriel Reyes had died.

_'Because there is **nothing** left of Gabriel in that abomination!'_

On the surface, things were quite simple. The Reaper had been responsible for hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths since his appearance; and would most definitely kill thousands more. His casual disregard for the lives of innocents was once again proven by how willingly he had sacrificed dozens of refugees just to set a trap for Overwatch, for _her personally._

Killing him would be doing the world a favor.

And yet...and yet the only way to do so would require using her nanites, specifically programmed and designed to destroy rather than heal; and just _thinking_ about that made her skin crawl with revulsion. It felt so inherently _wrong_ that she couldn't even properly put it into words. She was _still_ upset over Ana and Torbjörn having weaponized her technology, and now for her to do it herself? The irony of it all made her bark out a cynical laugh. Hadn't she berated Ana over her 'end justifies the means' argument just a few short weeks ago?

As if she'd jinxed it, the doors to the med bay opened and none other than Ana walked in. _'Speak of the devil...'_

“Ana, is there something I can help you with?” she asked instead, in a surprisingly cordial tone. She just didn't have the energy to argue right now.

The woman approached silently, wearing a neutral expression, and only as she sat down across from her did Angela notice the two steaming mugs in her hands. She accepted the one offered to her and took a tentative sip. Black tea with a dash of milk.

“Uh...thanks?” she ventured, carefully. “Was there something you needed?”

Ana scrutinized her closely for a few moments before she finally broke her silence.

“How are you feeling, Angela?”

Of all the things she could have said, Angela definitely hadn't been expecting _that_. And it apparently showed.

“Don't look so surprised, now. Even if we...aren't on the best of terms, I still care about the members of my team. And that includes you, whether you like it or not.” She took a sip. “So, how are you feeling?”

Angela took another, longer sip; partly to overcome her shock, but also to actually mull over the question. How _did_ she feel? Ana was undoubtedly asking about the incident in the interrogation room, which, as far as Angela was aware, Ana hadn't discussed yet with anyone else. Truth be told, she herself hadn't really thought about it much, had shoved that issue into the deepest recesses of her mind. Like so many other unresolved things that lingered there. And in all honesty, she didn't _want_ to think about it, or discuss it; least of all with _Ana_.

But she knew a simple “I'm fine.” wouldn't get the woman off her back. So she settled for the most honest answer she was willing to give: “Considering the circumstances, I'm doing okay...ish.”

Ana fixed her with a long, measuring stare before taking a sip from her own mug.

_'Yeah, she's not buying it.'_

There was an awkward silence for a few moments before Ana drew in a breath, only to keep whatever she had meant to say locked in her throat. She looked down into her mug, running her fingers over the rim.

Angela fiddled with a button on her lab coat, uncomfortable with this whole situation. She could deal with awkward silences, but in the present company? Not so much.

Finally, Ana seemed to have found the words she'd been looking for. Her eye found Angela's, and the quiet intensity held the medic's gaze captive. “Despite what you might think, Angela, I _do_ care about you. A lot. You were almost like a second daughter to me back in the days...hell, you're basically my daughter-in-law in all but name, now.” She paused, looking down at the by now lukewarm tea remaining in her mug.

“What happened yesterday...I know what you're dealing with. All this destruction, and what that _degenerate_ said, it all being because of us...it's a lot to work through. What I came here for is to...to lighten your burden, so to speak.”

She paused again, leaning her head back and gazing to the ceiling with a mirthless chuckle. “Sixty years, and it's still so difficult.” she murmured, probably more to herself.

Looking back at Angela, she took a deep breath breath and continued:“What I mean to say is: _I'm sorry_. I truly am. About the rifle, about disappearing an Fareeha, on _you_...at the time I always thought those were the right choices, and some part of me still does. But I only ever considered it from my perspective; and that's where I was so, so wrong.”

She paused again, longer this time, probably waiting for a response from Angela, but none came forth. She had no idea what she should, _could_ say to that.

Ana seemed to take her silence as disapproval, if the slump in her shoulders was any indication. She slowly rose, but didn't leave just yet. “I've put the rifle next to your suit. I won't use it any more, you can do with it whatever you want. Dismantle it, destroy it...it should never have existed in the first place.” She looked at Angela again, briefly. “I won't bother you any longer.”

With that she turned around, taking her mug with her. Just before she reached the door, Angela called out: “Ana.”

The sniper froze and turned around slowly.

“Keep the rifle. I've seen how much good you can actually do with it. Just...use it only for healing unless _absolutely_ necessary.” She hesitated briefly, fighting down the petty, vindictive voice in her head. “And thank you. For the apology. We're not square yet, but...I appreciate it.”

The ghost of a smile appeared on Ana's face as she inclined her head, turned once again and left the med bay.

Angela kept staring after the woman long after she was gone, until she finally slumped in her chair, massaging her temples with both hands. Ana may have meant well with this olive branch, but she couldn't afford to get distracted, not now. Not when she was about to do what she feared might become the biggest regret of her life.

* * *

Fareeha strode through the door as soon as it opened, carrying a plate of sandwiches in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. She was greeted by a familiar sight.

“Let me guess: you haven't taken a break since this morning?” she drawled, already knowing the answer.

Angela looked up from her screens, unruly strands of hair haphazardly tucked behind her ears. Fareeha hadn't thought it possible that Angela could look worse than right after Oujda, but the three days since had definitely proven her wrong. At least she'd managed to talk her into getting some sleep _last_ night, but the other side of their bed had already been cold once Fareeha had woken up for her pre-dawn run.

“This is important, Fareeha.” Angela replied, “It needs to be ready the next time we run into... _it_.”

Fareeha sat down in the empty chair next to her, placing the plate in her lap. Experience had shown that Angela tended to ignore food that was simply deposited on the table.

“I know, _amar_.” she answered. “How are things going along?”

Angela glanced at the screen again, absently taking a bite from the sandwich. She seemingly realized only then how hungry she actually was, since she devoured the whole thing in four large bites, and tucked right into the next one.

Only when she was halfway through the third and last sandwich did she pause, looking at the screen again. “It's going well, actually. Very well. It is...disturbingly easy to re-purpose the nanites to do harm.”

She brought the sandwich up to her face again, but didn't take a bite. After a few moments she set it back down on the plate, and moved it to the desk. Her dark thoughts had apparently killed her appetite.

“I think it's rather telling how much easier it is to devise implements that kill, rather than heal. The human body is so very delicate; just one little typo in my code could lead to the nanites wreaking havoc in a person's body.”

Angela fell silent again, staring at that half-eaten sandwich. Fareeha felt she needed to lighten the mood.

“Well that's that, then. Just type in a few lines of gibberish and let them loose. Problem solved!” she said with a smirk.

Angela actually chuckled, but Fareeha wasn't sure if there was any mirth in it.

“It's not _that_ easy, unfortunately.” the Swiss replied. “For one, I want these nanites to work only on the Reaper. And, to be frank, I'm not sure they actually will work at all. I'm not sure what he even _is_ , now...for all we know, what's left of Gabriel could be just a brain in a jar remote-controlling a nanoswarm.”

Fareeha laughed in reply, and chose not to comment on Angela even mentioning Gabriel's name for the first time in _years_. She probably hadn't even realized it.

“I'm sure you'll figure it out. You always do.”

She stood up and moved behind Angela, lightly massaging her tense shoulders. Angela closed her eyes with a groan, head falling back against the headrest. A delicate hand came to rest on her own calloused one, and Angela looked at her with eyes full of adoration.

“I love you.” the blonde whispered, raw emotion dripping from every syllable.

“I love you too.” Fareeha murmured back, leaning down to place a kiss on Angela's forehead. “Remember to take care of yourself, _malak_. Don't let me sleep alone again tonight.”

Angela sighed. “I won't, _Rübli_.” She gave the hand one last squeeze before she sat up straight again. “And now shoo. I have to get back to work if you want me to call it quits before midnight.”

Fareeha smiled before leaving the room, taking the plate with her. Angela definitely didn't need any more clutter on her desk.

* * *

A quick peek at the clock revealed that Angela had at least tried to keep her promise. One in the morning wasn't too bad, Fareeha had to mentally concede as she scooted over to make space on the bed, welcoming the blonde into her waiting arms as she snuggled up against her sturdy frame.

“Try to sleep a little longer this time?” she asked quietly, running the fingers of her right hand through Angela's hair.

“No promises,” the Swiss murmured in reply, suppressing a yawn, “but I'll try.”

“That's all I can ask for.” was Fareeha's answer before she pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of Angela's head. “I love you, _habibti._ ”

“Love you too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the original outline had this as the penultimate chapter, but there's at least two more coming (including the epilogue). So you've got something to look forward to (in like half a year or so >_>)
> 
> 'song' of the day is the new album by converge, [The Dusk in Us](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wHtUflR-68), which is absolutely brilliant from start to finish.
> 
> cheers


	8. Siberian Sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go back up to the top of the page. Read the archive warnings. Read them _again_. Proceed only when you’ve _fully understood what those words mean._  
>  songs of the day are [mountains made of steam](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=unb3m_6ceZQ) by A Silver Mt. Zion; and [antaeus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jRjJdspn0o) by Khuda

When she came to there was nothing but darkness. Very briefly she wondered how she was still alive, but the doctor in her took over almost immediately. The first thing she noticed was the very fact that she was still breathing, which meant that the wound in her abdomen must have been closed while she was out cold. Then she became aware of the heavy weight pressing down on her chest, making that breathing difficult. Likely some debris, which was probably also responsible for the sharp pain in her left side every time she took a breath.

_Just a few cracked ribs, nothing to worry about._

She could move her arms, however fractionally in what little space they had, which was a relief. Her legs, however…

_This is bad. Really bad._

She could feel neither of her legs at least from the knee down, and any attempt to move them was punished by such intense pain it made her eyes water.

_Okay, don’t panic. You’ve gotten out of worse situations. They just need to find you soon, and everything will be fine._

* * *

She was so tired she didn’t even notice Satya enjoying her breakfast when she trudged into the kitchen, making a beeline for the coffee machine. Only after the apparatus roared to life grinding those precious beans did she hear the offended squawk coming from the nook that was Satya’s usual place. She turned around and sent an apologetic glance to her, silently willing the machine to finish faster. The whole episode only lasted for about thirty seconds but felt like a lifetime.

“Sorry about that” she mumbled after the cup had been filled, adding her small mountain of sugar crystals. “I would have warned you, but I didn’t notice you sitting there.”

“I am not surprised.” was Satya’s matter-of-fact response, and Angela quietly wondered how she was able to make the simple act of stirring her _upma_ seem indignant. “Your tiredness is quite obvious.”

The blonde had the decency to look properly abashed, and quickly took a sip from her mug to hide her tired visage.

“I haven’t been sleeping well lately.” she admitted before it even occurred to her that Satya might not have wanted to have a conversation this early in the day.

“So I have noticed” the Indian stated after she’d finished her breakfast, moving her empty bowl and spoon to the sink and starting washing it. Angela was sitting down, munching on a bagel when Satya spoke up again.

“Something seems to be troubling you.”

Angela paused mid-bite. She shouldn't have been surprised, really. Satya had often demonstrated just _how_ perceptive she really was, even though she rarely ever engaged in conversation.

"That obvious, huh?" she asked lamely after swallowing her bite, turning around to face her friend.

"Quite," was the Indian's succinct reply, "although I am unsure what the root cause may be. Am I correct in the assumption that it has something to do with our last mission?"

Angela deflated just the tiniest bit. So much for trying to steer the conversation somewhere else. She considered lying about it but abandoned that thought rather quickly. She wasn't that confident in her fibbing abilities this early in the day. Or any time of the day, really.

"Sort of." she eventually settled on, debating how much she should actually reveal. "I have an... issue I need to deal with, one that has been in the back of my mind for quite some time. But the disaster in Oujda has made ignoring it any further impossible."

"And what precisely would that issue be?" Satya asked, straight to the point.

Angela took a deep breath but stopped before she even began talking. How could she put the whirlwind of emotion into words? How could she explain just how _wrong_ it felt, having to re-purpose her own technology to harm and maim and kill - even if it was just for one particular person, even if it was for the _greater good_ , whatever that was supposed to be. She wasn't sure anymore.

So she settled for an approach Satya would most likely understand. The logical one, as logical as one could get when personal convictions were involved.

"You remember how angry I was with Ana and Torbjörn when I found out they weaponized my technology behind my back? How angry I actually still am?"

Satya gave a curt nod and waited for her to continue.

"I have to do the same thing: weaponize my technology, altering my nanites so they kill rather than heal."

"But you have a good reason?" Satya asked.

Angela laughed mirthlessly. "Can there ever be a truly _good_ reason to kill someone?"

"Of course." was Satya's immediate reply, so self-assured it made Angela's eyes narrow. "If you have to end someone's life to protect another, isn't that a valid reason?"

There was something in her tone, something that made Angela's hackles rise. She felt transported back in time, re-living half-overheard arguments between Jack and Gabe while she was wrist-deep in the guts of a dying woman.

_"You decided to detonate the bomb here? Are you **insane** , Reyes?!"_

_"It was either that or let them get away! Yes, a bunch of people died here; but would you prefer if they brought that thing to major metropolitan center?"_

"So it's better for twenty innocent people to die than two hundred?" she whispered, quoting Jack's remembered reply.

Unfortunately, Satya caught it.

"It would be preferable if no one died, but yes. Better twenty than two hundred."

Angela's head snapped up, jabbing an accusing finger in Satya's direction. "So that's it, then? Life or death is just a math equation?"

Satya cocked her head to the side. "I do not understand, what does this has to do with your dilemma, Dr. Ziegler?"

"Everything!" Angela almost shouted, breathing heavily. "Who gets to decide who lives or dies? Who has the _right_ to do that? Why do I have to make that decision?!"

"I trust you to make the right decision, Dr. Ziegler. Everyone here does."

"That's not the point!" Angela replied through clenched teeth. "No one should have the power to make such a decision! This is why Overwatch was shut down in the first place. Perhaps it should have stayed dead."

With that she stormed out of the kitchen, the still steaming mug on the counter the only visible sign she'd been there in the first place.

* * *

Fareeha found Angela in her office, staring through the open window down into the vast ocean. Her eyes seemed unfocused, and if she registered Fareeha entering the room, she didn’t show it.

“Angela?”

The blonde startled, eyes briefly landing on Fareeha’s form, before returning to the endless blue waters.

“Are you alright?” Fareeha asked when she didn’t receive any further acknowledgement. “Satya said you _behaved oddly_ , to quote her directly.”

Angela visibly deflated upon hearing that name, and let out a long sigh. She finally turned around with her chair to face Fareeha and let out the most unladylike groan while sliding down in her chair, until she almost fell out of it.

Fareeha couldn’t suppress her chuckle and went over to the blonde, perching herself on the desk. Angela heaved herself into a proper sitting position once again, before letting her face fall into both her hands.

“Talk to me.” Fareeha softly urged, her calloused hand coming to rest on Angela’s shoulder.

The Swiss mumbled something unintelligible, but before Fareeha could ask she repeated herself.

“I’m such a hypocrite.”

“Oh?” Fareeha asked, one eyebrow raised. “How so?”

Angela had fallen silent again, seemingly staring into nothing. Fareeha was about to speak up when the doctor moved, opening the top drawer of her desk and pulling something out. Fareeha inspected the object deposited on the desk. It was a vial, filled with a thick, viscous liquid that seemed to fluctuate between a dark blue and green color. A muted glow emanated from the container, barely enough to illuminate the surrounding papers.

“Is this it?” she asked.

Angela didn’t reply at first, gaze transfixed on the vial while she cradled the hand that had held it; almost as if she’d been burned.

“It’s been finished for three days.” she whispered, finally looking up at Fareeha. In all the years they’d been together, she had never seen the Swiss so conflicted, so unsure of herself, not even when they had discussed whether or not to respond to the recall.

So she got onto her knees and gathered the blonde into her arms, her hand finding its way into golden hair.

“It’s okay, _malak_. You did fine.”

“Then why does it feel like such a mistake?” came the barely audible reply, one that Fareeha had no answer for.

They eventually broke apart and, after a heavy sigh, Angela righted herself in her chair.

“Thanks for dropping by.” she murmured, throwing a fleeting glance at the vial before looking into Fareeha’s eyes again. “Could you tell your mother to come find me if you run into her?”

Fareeha paused for a moment, eyes narrowed, but Angela quickly tried to assuage any suspicion. “I won’t yell at her, _Bärli_. Well, at least I’m not planning to.”

“You’d better not be bitching and moaning about my ‘ _obstinate old fool of a mother’_ tonight.” Fareeha warned with a chuckle, blowing a kiss to her girlfriend and letting the door slide shut. She hesitated for a moment before she pulled her communicator out of her pocket and messaged her mother, asking if she’d like to have lunch together.

* * *

She'd lost track of how long she'd been here. Not that it mattered. It was already too long. It would take a small miracle to make it out alive. Scratch that, it would take an enormous one.

_It's been at least… an hour? Two? No matter… I'm as good as dead._

_No, bad thoughts, don't think like that. There's still a chance. All I need is more nanite solution. Maybe the backup has already arrived. There should be enough on the ship. Yes, seal it all off internally and then...well, I've always wondered what it’s like walking with prosthetics. I'll be fine. It'll work out. It_ will _work out._

If only she believed herself.

Suddenly, she heard a noise from above.

* * *

“Any questions?” Jack asked, scarred face illuminated by the projection. No one spoke up, most people still staring at the map of the target area. It was to be their first mission since Oujda and, with Athena still quarantined and cut off from the outside world, they were playing it safe.

Nine agents would be going on this mission. Reinhardt, Zarya, and D.Va would form their vanguard, aggressively reconnoitering the area in front of local military units, while Angela, Ana, and Zenyatta kept them in fighting shape. Fareeha, Jack, and Lena would closely follow their front line and support the Russian troops as required.

That was the plan, at least.

Their contact in the Russian government had assured them full cooperation of the military, and also stressed that they needn’t worry about civilians. The area around the Omnium, including the city of Krasnoyarsk, had long been declared an exclusion zone, one that was heavily enforced by the Russian armed forces.

That, at least, was a weight off Angela’s shoulders, albeit a small one. She could only speculate what Talon would be up to at the epicenter of the Omnic crisis, but knew one thing for sure: whatever they tried to achieve, they _couldn’t_ succeed.

They definitely had their work cut out for them. Intelligence reports indicated a heavy presence of Talon ground forces, and strongly suggested the presence of several _notable individuals_ ; Reaper and Widowmaker at the very least, according to eye witnesses. For once Angela didn’t think they were going overboard with the amount of firepower they would bring along.

Still, there was quite some time to go until they’d actually engage any enemy. The flight there would take close to ten hours, and a good hour of that time was due to the fact that they had to stay out over the Mediterranean and the Black Sea before they could enter Russian airspace. More than enough time to go over every facet of their plan of attack, to poke an endless number of holes in it, born from situations that ranged from unlikely to plain ridiculous. She’d gotten pretty good at blending out these pre-mission jitters in the days of the old Overwatch, a skill she was re-learning ever so slowly.

And yet, here was her saving grace, pulling her out of her head with nothing more but a gentle touch to the elbow.

“How about we find something we can munch on during the flight?” Fareeha asked, well aware of Angela’s distaste for the junk food that people kept storing in the Orcas. Thus, they found themselves in the transport half an hour later, dressed in their flight suits and stowing away the rest of their gear; among the last to do so. The sound of Tracer working down the pre-flight checklist from the cockpit was drowned out when the door to the hangar opened and a stream of gibberish was yelled at _someone_.

„Säg till den där fåniga tjejen att om hon sätter _en fot_ på den här stenen skickar jag tillbaka henne via posten!“

Angela whipped her head around and peeked out of the vessel.

“Trouble at home?” she asked, tone slightly teasing, and had to conceal her smile behind her hand when the reply was an aggravated huff. It took Fareeha a moment to recognize Torbjörn’s voice, and to remember that Angela spoke fluent Swedish from the years she spent with the Lindholms as a teenager.

“We’ll see who’s laughing when _you_ have to deal with your kids getting stupid ideas of heroism.” he finally said, though with a lot less bite than his voice usually carried. He walked up the ramp to the Orca and took hold of Angela’s hands with his organic one, and whispered something to her that was too quiet for Fareeha to understand. Angela only shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“I’m thirty-seven and I’ve been on countless mission, _farbror_. Don’t you think I can look after myself?” she said, exasperated, but still she went down on one knee accepted the offered hug. Fareeha turned around and looked for something to busy herself with. Though probably not intentional, she felt like she wasn’t meant to see this tender exchange. She tried to tune out the muted voices from behind and finally settled on pulling out one of her ammo drums, checking the proper fit of each rocket. She’d gone over all of her equipment multiple times already, but one more time wouldn’t hurt either way.

She’d gone through most of her drums by the time she heard shuffling and a laugh, and turned around to see Angela upright again.

“Amari.” Torbjörn simply grunted, as if he only now realized she was even there. “You watch over Angela out there, you hear?”

“I’ll be keeping the skies clear for her.” she replied with a cheeky smile, and the Swede merely shook his head and turned around, muttering to himself as he walked down the ramp.

“He’ll never forgive me for melting his favorite hammer, will he?” Fareeha asked, watching after him.

“He loved that hammer more than his own grandkids.” Angela simply replied and, perhaps rather tellingly, she couldn’t tell if the Swiss was being serious or not.

“Should’ve taken better care of it, then.” she mumbled. “What?” she continued at Angela’s deadpan expression. “It’s not my fault he left it lying on the ground right behind my armor mount. The scorch marks from all my previous actuation and startup test should’ve told him that’s a bad spot!”

Angela merely laughed and shook her head, finishing her own preparations by making sure all her gear was properly stowed away. The other agents filtered in one by one and, already having taken care of their belongings, dispersed around the Orca. It would be a little cramped, but nothing they couldn’t handle.

With everyone settled in they finally departed, gently hovering out of the hangar before steadily climbing into the air.

No one took notice of the folder that popped up on the computer in Jack’s office.

* * *

“Shield at seventy-five per cent!” Reinhardt bellowed, causing all the Russian soldiers patched into their channel to wince. Every Overwatch member quietly appreciated that he kept his volume down.

“I’m coming towards you from the west, about twenty hostiles in tow.” D.Va piped up, her casual cheeriness replaced by calm determination.

They’d been making good progress so far, despite the stiff resistance. Between Reinhardt’s barrier and Zarya’s individual shields, they had taken barely any losses, while inflicting heavy casualties on the Talon forces opposing them. Their advance had ground to a halt at their current position, though, at the entrance to a wide-open plaza. It offered no cover whatsoever, and the opposite side had been heavily reinforced and entrenched. Talon were hitting them with heavy weapons, making any attempt at crossing a suicide run.

“How long until you get here?” Pharah asked, calmly assessing the situation.

“ETA forty seconds.” came the prompt reply. She’d have to be quick.

“Zarya, prepare to throw your graviton surge into the largest available group on my mark. I’ll take out those heavy machine guns.”

She didn’t wait for an acknowledgement, instead carefully skirting around the edge of the plaza until she had a perfect flanking angle on the Talon front line. She engaged her jets and shot into the air, sending three rockets into emplacements before she even hit the zenith. Her lightning attack had the desired effect of sowing chaos among the enemy ranks, only exacerbated by the fact that D.Va zipped right across the square at that very moment. Her HUD picked up plenty of new signatures in her wake, and twenty had been a pretty accurate count.

“Zarya, mark!” she barked, right as she gave herself a quick forward boost. She watched the glowing projectile describe a graceful arc before it splashed onto the ground right in the middle of the enemy group, erupting into a blue sphere of carnage pulling in everything in a large radius.

“Justice rains from above!” she yelled, all of her engines going to max thrust to counteract the staggering force of ninety mini-rockets belching forth from her armor. It was a truly terrifying display of firepower, one she was sure would break any resistance Talon was still trying to mount in this sector.

Just as the last rocket had been fired an unseen force slammed into her chest accompanied by a crack in the distance, causing her to quickly drop down and out of sight. She landed heavily, stumbling a few steps before righting herself, acutely aware of the dull pain spreading just to the right of her heart. She looked down to find a deep gouge cut into the chest plate of her armor, but the shot didn’t go through.

“Sniper!” someone yelled, and everyone who had watched her decimate the enemy troops quickly dove for cover again. Mercy was beside her in a heartbeat, quickly connecting the yellow beam of her caduceus staff.

“Didn’t penetrate.” Pharah wheezed, still catching her breath.

“Yes, caduceus isn’t detecting any open wounds, but there is a little bit of blunt trauma.”

“Nothing serious, then.” she concluded, beginning to check the rest of her equipment for any damage.

“Fareeha-“ Mercy started with a sigh, but was quickly cut off.

“No buts, _amar_. There are others who need you more.”

As if to prove her point, Zarya approached them. “Group three has reported heavy resistance. They have taken their objective, but suffered several casualties.”

Mercy conceded with another sigh, looking up the location of group three on her HUD.

“That’s quite some distance.” Pharah mused, also looking at their tactical map. “I would give you a lift, but…” she vaguely gestured around them before pointing at the dent in her armor.

“It’s quite alright.” Mercy replied with a chuckle, “I should be able to make it in about ten minutes. Is the way clear?”

Zarya thought for a moment. “We haven’t spotted any enemy activity on the route, but I’ll send two men with you. To be safe.”

“Excellent. We’ll depart as soon as I am finished here.” Mercy briefly glanced at the square, where the dust was slowly settling. “It shouldn’t take me too long.”

Zarya nodded and went off to find her an escort, but Pharah had recognized that tone.

“If there had been any other way…”

“I know, love.” Mercy murmured, cutting her off. She cupped Pharah’s cheek with her left hand, wiping away some dust with her thumb. They paused, not wanting this brief moment of peace to end, but both knew better.

“I should get back to it.” Mercy said after a few seconds and reluctantly disengaged. “Is it safe to cross the plaza?”

Pharah considered for a moment. “The shot must’ve come from the north-west, and quite some distance away. I don’t think there are any clear sight lines as long as you stay on the ground.”

Mercy peeked around the corner and turned around one last time. “Stay safe.” She whispered, tilting up Pharah’s visor and pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

Pharah watched her go, and after a few moments opened a separate channel. “Tracer, how do you feel about hunting down that sniper? I have a hunch who that might be…”

* * *

They were making good time, Mercy thought, while scanning the buildings. It was eerie walking through a completely abandoned city. The streets were still full of debris from the heavy fighting during the crisis, but the path they had chosen was a broad boulevard that allowed them to move quickly. There was an occasional burst of gunfire in the distance, often cut short by the loud _bang_ of an explosion, and then silence descended again. The two soldiers accompanying her were uneasy, but she didn’t strike up a conversation. Her Russian was limited to a few phrases and questions, mainly revolving around common medical issues, and she didn’t want to embarrass them in case their English wasn’t up to par, either.

When they came upon a crossroads the lead man raised a fist, signaling them to stop. He slowly approached something that had caught his attention, calling for his comrade to move up. Her curiosity piqued Mercy approached as well, trying to get a good look at what had captured the soldier’s attention.

To her horror, she recognized it all too well.

“Get back!” she yelled, but it was too late. At that very moment the device activated, spewing out a cloud of noxious fumes. Her eyes started to water immediately and she stumbled back, trying to get out of the cloud. She heard a metallic clink over her own violent coughs only moments before something solid slammed into her side, digging painfully into her hip; and suddenly she was yanked off her feet. She was dragged over the rubble at an incredible speed, and only stopped when her shoulder slammed into a solid object. She could make out a few blurry shapes before someone punched her in the side of her head and everything went dark.

When she came to, she immediately knew something was very, _very_ wrong. She was lying on cold concrete, and something… _something_ was missing. She cracked open her eyes, wincing briefly at the bright light invading her vision, before things came into focus.

“Oi, mate! I think she’s wakin’ up.”

She recognized that voice.

“Would you look at _that_.” a different, grating voice rasped, and she’d never experienced such absolute _dread_ before. “Sleeping Beauty rouses from her slumber.”

“Gabriel?” she whispered, slowly trying to right herself.

“The very same.”

A pair of black boots entered her view and she looked up, face to face with her greatest nightmare.

“Why the long face, Ziegler?” he drawled, crouching down. “This is a happy occasion! Well, at least for one of us.”

“Wh-what do you want, Gabriel?”

“What do I want?” he asked, rising up and falling into a languid back-and-forth pace before coming to a halt right in front of her again. “Isn’t it obvious, d _octor_? I thought you were a genius, you should have figured this out by now.”

The kick came out of nowhere, hard enough to lift her off the ground send her sliding across the floor. Her abdomen exploded with pain, and she was certain something had ruptured. _‘Spleen, most likely’_ her brain unhelpfully supplied.

She suddenly realized she had no input from any of her systems. Her hand shot to her head, but the Reaper saw the gesture.

“Looking for something?” he asked, while pulling something out from the depths of his coat. He was holding her halo. “We’re having such a good time, don’t we? Wouldn’t want any of your _friends_ to interrupt our friendly chat.”

No communication. No access to any of her suits non-automated functions. The others couldn’t even ping her location.

“No, my dear, I made sure we’d be having _all_ the time in the world.”

“When’re we gonna get this show on the road, ghost man?” the first voice interrupted, and her gaze zeroed in on the source. It was the maniac they had interrogated in Morocco, standing next to a man who could only be described as humongous.

Reaper had whipped around with a low growl, tendrils of black mist slowly rising from his form, but the lanky figure blathered on completely oblivious.

“Oi, you there, didn’t expect the see me again ya? Oh, you shoulda seen the jailbreak, all the explosions-“

He was quite literally cut off when the Reaper suddenly materialized in front of him and closed his hand around his throat.

“Speak one more time and you’ll _stay_ with her.”

The man uselessly scrabbled at the Reapers arm, desperately gasping for air before the wraith finally let go, turning back to her.

She flopped onto her back, some part of her realizing that her wings should be making her sit upright but _there was nothing there_ ; and feebly tried backing away. The Reaper laughed, quickly closing the distance and yanking her off the floor by her arm.

“Leaving so soon? But you haven’t seen the main attraction yet!”

He flung her across the floor, her face scraping against the floor but she couldn’t brace herself.

_‘The toxin must still be active in my system.’_

“Why are you doing this, Gabriel?!” she asked, not even trying to mask the hysteria that began creeping into her voice.

“Why am I doing this?!” he roared. “You _ruined_ me! Every single day is endless agony because of _you_!”

“I tried to _save_ you!” she yelled back, heavily leaning on both hands. She knew, logically, that yelling that _the Reaper_ was not a good idea; but logic had fled this situation a long time ago. All she could do was try to stall for time, even a few minutes that might help the others find her. “Had I known about O’Deorain’s modifications I could have adapted the caduceus. All of this could have been avoided, but you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell anyone!”

He barked out a short, rasping laugh before appearing in a cloud of mist right in front of her and delivering a brutal punch to her face.

“You _dare_ to blame me?!” he roared, punching her again before grabbing her by the hair and pulling her up. “Of course, the _great_ Angela Ziegler _couldn’t_ have made a mistake! No, it was everyone else’s fault, while she was _playing god_!”

He was standing at his full height now, keeping her face level with his.

“Behold your creation!”

He took off the mask with his other hand, and what she saw took her breath away. His face was ashen and marred by enormous holes, some even revealing the bone underneath. And before her very eyes, the holes slowly mended themselves while new ones formed in other places; skin slowly sloughing off his face before dissolving into mist that was absorbed by his body.

 _“Mein Gott…”_ she whispered, desperately wanting to close her eyes but her body wouldn’t obey her.

He suddenly let go and turned sideways, face now obscured by his hood. She tried to brace her fall but her limbs were still sluggish.

“You should have let me die that day, Angela.” he said, his voice suddenly much more human. Hope flared in her like fire on dry kindling. “I’d made my peace. I’d done everything I could to make him see reason, and when he refused…I was out of options.”

A brief silence descended, and she saw her opportunity. “I can still help you, Gabriel! Come back with me, and I can undo everything that was done to you.”

There was a pregnant pause, her plea seemingly echoing through the cavernous hall.

“Just like that?” he finally asked, and with every syllable his rasp gradually returned, with every syllable terror crept into the very essence of her being. He fixed his mask back over his face, and turned around. “You would… _undo_ …everything? Six years of existing in a perpetual state of torture; six years of trying to end it all, and I would come back every time. Just with the snap of a finger, you would… _erase_ it all?”

He slowly walked over to her prone form.

“No, Ziegler. You won’t escape this. Everyone has to pay their due, and yours…yours is due _today_.”

In a fluent motion he pulled an enormous shotgun from his cloak, pushed the muzzle into her belly and pulled the trigger before she could even react. The blast tore through her suit like it was made of paper, a sickening spray of red splashing onto her face. For a brief moment she saw nothing but white, and then pain shot through her body like she’d never felt before. A scream tore from her throat that made her own blood curdle; but the pain wouldn’t let up.

She tried curling in on herself but any attempt at movement was punished by a sharp spike in her agony, and she briefly wondered just how much she could endure before passing out.

Someone grabbed her face, roughly yanking her off the ground. A whimper was the only reaction she could muster and through the tears her eyes couldn’t focus on the white shape vaguely resembling a face in front of her.

“Oh, how I wish we could drag this out just a day or two, but sadly we’re out of time. And, who knows…maybe someone will _save_ you like you saved me.”

He let go and she fell down, barely registering her skull slamming onto concrete over the searing heat radiating from her abdomen. But the pain was finally diminishing, ever so slightly. She realized that at least some of Valkyrie’s systems were still operational, and trying to keep her alive. If the Reaper really did leave now and Overwatch found her quickly enough, she might still have a chance.

She turned her head around and saw him talking to the other two men.

“The detonator is primed? Good. You have one minute to get out.”

After that he dissolved into a cloud of black smoke, swiftly moving across the floor and disappearing out the window. And with him, any hope she had left. She wouldn’t even make it to the stairwell the two figures were running for.

The first sob surprised her, but it was like a dam breaking. A small, vicious voice in her head told her that he was right. That this was a just punishment for her transgressions. But hadn’t she always tried to do the right thing? She’d only ever had one goal in life; to alleviate suffering in whatever way she could. She could’ve done so much more…

Her thoughts were cut short by a rapid series of explosions and the floor disappearing beneath her. For a brief moment she felt weightless before the ceiling came down and everything went black.

* * *

She hurt all over. Her arms, her back, especially her legs… even though the Raptora helped her carry much greater weights than she would’ve ordinarily been able to (and took a lot of stress and wear off her body), she’d been working tirelessly for over two hours; not to mention the preceding heavy combat.

They all had halted in their efforts for a few minutes, the whole area deathly quiet while everyone listened for signs of life. The longer the silence dragged on, the more it wore on her. She’d barely been able to keep a thin veneer of calmness and professionalism over the rapidly growing panic when they’d first realized what had happened; and every passing moment was slowly chipping away at it.

Fuzzy memories flooded her mind; of the growing unease when they’d realized something was wrong, when neither Mercy nor group three had reported in. She’d gone herself to link up with the Russian soldiers, finding a harried Sergeant trying to organize what was left of his unit.

“No Mercy here!” he’d yelled, “You promise to send Doctor, but Doctor never arrive! I lose five good men because you keep Doctor for yourself!”

It was then that she’d heard the explosions in the distance, Ana reporting from her perch that a parking garage had just collapsed in an area that had been supposedly devoid of any activity.

They’d quickly arrived at the scene, unsure how to proceed, but after Zenyatta had announced that he could sense a human beneath the rubble they’d quickly delved into frenzied action.

The Russians had somehow managed to rustle up heavy equipment; jackhammers, concrete saws, even an old truck with a crane; and quickly gotten to work. Zenyatta had given them the exact location of the life sign he had detected, but even so it was excruciatingly slow work. They had to take every possible precaution to avoid any further collapses, and much of the debris was too heavy even for Reinhardt to move.

And every few minutes they’d stop completely to listen. Zenyatta assured them that whoever was in there was still alive, though in very poor condition; and Fareeha didn’t know if she wanted it to be Angela or someone else, because if it wasn’t her she was _somewhere else and she had no idea if she was alright_.

Someone gave an order and the shouting and drilling resumed; and with it she returned to her task, carrying away rubble and helping secure and shoal up areas already excavated. Her rocket boosters had been discarded a while ago, the bulky things only a hindrance in the cramped environment, and she didn’t dare to use them for fear of destabilizing any potential pockets of air and causing further collapse. It was taxing work, both physically and mentally. Ever step had to be taken with care, every piece of debris a potential hazard. She was thankful for it, in a way, because it meant her thoughts couldn’t wander while she worked, couldn’t take her to possibilities and what ifs.

Suddenly there was a commotion a few meters away, soldiers yelling and pointing at something. She made her way over, and saw what had riled them up: a sizable chunk of concrete with blood smeared all over it. The sheer amount of it absolutely terrified her, but she had faith in Zenyatta’s reassurances. She _had_ to have faith, otherwise she’d have already given in to utter despair.

A Russian Captain had walked over and harshly ordered his men into complete silence, and that’s when they heard it: some faint noise, in a rough rhythm, _from below_. Immediately she was on her knees, shouting down into the rubble.

“Angela! Do you hear me? Answer, _please_ , do you hear me?!”

She listened again. No voice answered, but there was a brief pause before the sound resumed, faster and more urgent. It was all she’d needed. Like a madwoman she started to move rubble out of the way, as if she could dig a tunnel. It took Reinhardt physically hauling her off her feet and holding her in a tight embrace.

“Patience, child.” he murmured, in a voice so soft she’d never heard from him before. “We’re almost there, but we need to be careful. Now more than ever.”

She struggled for a few moments before she relented, hearing the wisdom in his word. He let her go and she took a step back, surveying the immediate area. A large beam jutted out of the debris vertically a few feet below, but other than that no large pieces were immediately visible. If Angela was trapped in an air pocket they’d have move with extreme caution, lest they inadvertently caused it to collapse. The soldiers went back to work with renewed focus, clearing away small bits of debris in a small radius. After they’d worked down about two feet, the picture became clearer. Two large slabs of reinforced concrete were wedged against one another, propping each other up at a shallow angle. Not knowing how deeply embedded they were, the Russian combat engineers drilled thick bolts into them and fixed them to the crane before they stared clearing smaller detritus.

Finally, a gap opened where one of the slabs rested against the vertical strut, and a voice rang out.

“Fareeha!”

Instantly she was on her knees next to it, peering into the hole but seeing nothing but blackness.

“Angela! _Alhamd lilah_ , you’re alive! Are you alright, can you move?” she asked, her relief almost palpable.

Angela’s reply was muffled but audible, and the tone unsettled the Egyptian. “Fareeha, how…how long has it been?”

“I don’t know, about two hours, a bit more maybe? Are you hurt?”

There was a long moment of silence before she heard some scraping, and saw a hint of movement in the gap. She reached in and felt Angela’s fingers brush against her own, quickly closing her own around the Swiss’ hand.

“I’m stuck, Fareeha.” Angela finally replied weakly, “My legs are…I can’t move them.”

“Don’t worry, _habibti_.” Fareeha answered, “We’ll get you out of there in no time and everything will be alright.”

The fingers in her hold tensed suddenly and closed in a hard grip, Angela’s muffled voice taking on an urgent and imploring tone.

“Fareeha, listen to me. No matter what you do, _under no circumstances_ can you move whatever is keeping my legs pinned! Do you understand?”

Any relief she’d been feeling evaporated upon hearing those words, the quiet desperation laced into them. A memory was skirting around the edges of her thoughts, something she knew was paramount, but refused to be recalled. It only added to the anxious knot in the pit of her stomach.

“I…yes, okay, I’ll tell the men. Where…what position are you in now?” she finally replied, trying to rein in her rising unease.

She felt a brief tug on her hand, towards her right.

“I’m almost flat on my back. My head is in the direction I’m pulling your hand.”

Fareeha took note of the way the two flat slabs of concrete interlocked, and realized how lucky Angela had been to not be crushed outright. They’d have to dig up or saw off the slabs to get her out.

“Okay,” she finally said with a sigh, feeling weariness seep back into her bones. “It’s probably gonna take us a while to remove those large pieces. We’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Please, hurry!” was Angela’s parting reply, and the quiet desperation in her voice did nothing to ease Fareeha’s worry.

She rose to her feet and quickly flagged down Zarya, quickly relaying what they needed to do, and she translated for the assembled Russian troops. Their captain gave a few orders and the whole group burst into frantic activity. Very soon they determined that both slabs were quite shallow and relatively easy to dig out, and they’d only have to take care not to inadvertently cause any instabilities. The news gave Fareeha a much-needed boost of energy and she went to work, soon forgoing any tools and working with her bare hands. She didn’t care if her gloves got damaged. Gloves could be replaced.

It only took them a few minutes to remove enough debris to loosen both slabs. The combat engineers made an additional pass around the area, trying to shoal up and secure any potential hazards, before they started up the crane. They lifted the concrete agonizingly slowly, several men holding on to each piece to avoid them swinging around and potentially hurting Angela.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they swung the whole thing around and Angela was freed from the waist up. Upon seeing the blonde Fareeha could barely hold back her tears. The Valkyrie was completely wrecked on her abdomen and smeared in blood, her whole form covered in a layer of fine dust. Her ghostly pale face had innumerable tiny smudges where sweat had carried away the powder, revealing several small cuts and bruises. And her legs…

_‘God, it looks like they just…disappear beneath that strut.’_

“Fareeha!” Angela called, weakly lifting her shivering hand. The Egyptian was by her side in a heartbeat, gingerly lowering herself into the small indent.

“Angela, _ya ‘iilhi!_ You’re okay, you’re going to be okay!” Fareeha murmured, carefully cupping Angela’s cheeks with her hands.

The relief she had expected to see wasn’t on Angela’s face, though.

“’reeha, did the other Orca come? Did anyone come?!” she asked instead, voice nearly hysterical.

“N-no, no one’s come.” Fareeha replied, confused, “Why, what’s wrong? Angela?!”

Tears had begun streaming down the blonde’s face, carrying away more of the dirt. “No, please no, I can’t…” she mumbled, before desperately latching her hands onto the Egyptian’s armor.

“I can’t leave, Fareeha! I’m going to… I can’t… God, please no…” she trailed off, sobs shaking her frame. Fareeha did all she could not to give in to panic, but the feeling from earlier was back. She _knew_ she desperately needed to remember something, but it wouldn’t come to her.

“No Angela, it’ll be fine, we’ll free your legs and-“

“No!” Angela yelled, eyes wide open. “You can’t! I’ve been trapped too long, i-if you relieve the pressure I-I’ll go into cardiac arrest!”

Suddenly, the memory hit her like a freight train. “Crush syndrome.” she murmured, recalling the little girl that had been trapped in the collapsed building in Morocco. She remembered their conversation, what she had suggested back then.

“Could we…” she swallowed around the lump in her throat, “could we amputate your…”

She didn’t even finish her sentence when Angela started vehemently shaking her head.

“I’m already going into hypovolemic shock, losing any more blood would only make it worse.”

Fareeha paused, thoughts racing furiously. She knew that there was only one possible outcome of this scenario, but stubbornly refused to accept it.

“No, there has to be some other way, Angela!” she demanded, angry tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “Think! There must be _something_ we can do!”

“There isn’t!” Mercy shouted back before curling in on herself as much as she could. “There’s nothing we can do.” she whispered, voice quivering.

There was a moment of complete, dreadful silence, before Angela uttered the words that broke Fareeha’s heart.

“I don’t want to die.”

Fareeha didn’t know how to answer that. All her words had left her with the choked sob that forced its way out of her throat, and it took all of her willpower not to completely fall apart then and there. So, she did the only thing she could think of.

She gently gathered the blonde into her arms and held her as tightly as she dared, trying to still the sobs quaking through her body.

“I’m so cold,” Angela murmured, voice so weak it was barely audible, “it hurts so much.”

“Just hang on, _habibti._ Don’t give up.” Fareeha replied, trying to blink the tears out of her eyes. Angela’s skin had lost all color, making the blood and grime stand out even more starkly.

“I-I’m scared, Fareeha.” she whispered, desperately trying to stay awake, the trembling in her arms growing weaker. “Please don’t leave me.”

The mere thought sent a shudder through the Egyptian’s body, making her tighten her hold even more. “Never, _habibti_.” she breathed, voice trembling, “I-I’ll always be with you.”

Only after a few moments did Fareeha realize that the trembling had stopped. That all motion had stopped.

“Angela?” she asked, not willing to let go. Not willing to look at her, to have to face the unforgiving truth. “Say something, please. _Please_.”

She couldn’t take the silence any longer, raising her head to look upon her love’s face.

Her eyes were closed, features slack. There was no little smirk playing around her lips, no dimples in her cheeks from smiling too much.

No breathing.

Nothing.

Angela Ziegler was dead.

Under the waning light of a Siberian sunset she clutched the limp body to her chest, uncaring who might watch on as she cried until she had no more tears to give.

 

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You were wrong to trust me with your feelings :3  
> also, do you guys remember how i joked about not updating for 6 months? like, _a year_ ago? yeah i'm sorry T_T  
>  hani-magic has done an amazing piece to go along with the culmination of this chapter, you can find it here: ["http://hani-magic.tumblr.com/post/177765188984/commission-for-valathes-story-lazarus](http://hani-magic.tumblr.com/post/177765188984/commission-for-valathes-story-lazarus)  
> So this is it. end of the story. There will be a brief epilogue, but nowhere near as long as this behemoth of a chapter. All it’ll do is set up the sequel. Yes, you heard correctly. The _sequel_. This is now a series. First chapter of the new fic should be out in a few weeks. Stay tuned :B


End file.
